Starlight and Silent Nights
by starry19
Summary: Now complete -"Unaccountably nervous, he took a deep, steadying breath, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel still. This was silly - he was going to be with Lisbon, for God's sake. It wasn't really a date - they were just two lonely people who were going to be slightly less alone tonight." Jane/Lisbon
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: I love Christmas. So you're all getting Christmas. I don't know how many installments this is going to be at the moment. I do what the voices in my head tell me to do.

**AN, part II:** I wasn't going to post this until closer to actual Christmas, but apparently I have no self-control. And, hey, I watched "A Charlie Brown Christmas" last night; ergo, it is officially The Christmas Season.

**Disclaimer**: What, you think they're mine? Aww, you're cute. They _are_ on my Christmas list, however, along with a dishwasher that also sweeps the floor and makes really good martinis.

**Starlight and Silent Nights**

Patrick Jane despised holidays. Oh, it wasn't that he objected to the general principle of the things, certainly not. People should assuredly take the time to be with their families, to be grateful for what they've been given, and to make happy memories.

It was just that he loathed holidays as they related to him.

He had no family to be with. Well, that wasn't strictly true. His father was still alive, he assumed, somewhere in the midwest. He hadn't seen him since he and Angela had left their close-knit community one day in late October.

His mother, too, he presumed was still living, though he wasn't sure that anyone would think to tell him if she wasn't. Unlike his father, he couldn't begin to imagine where she was. It didn't particularly matter; he had no more desire to see her now than he did when he was twelve and she walked out on them.

There was no compassion in his heart for people who abandoned their children.

Second on his list of reasons to dread the coming of holidays was the concept of being thankful. On most days, he was grateful for what he had. He had somewhere to sleep, tea whenever he wanted it, friends that cared about him, and he had Teresa Lisbon at his back.

He was lucky, no doubt there.

Except that on those special, gilded days, he was forced to remember what he_ didn't_ have. And he couldn't be thankful for that.

Finally, the idea of making happy memories depressed him so terribly it was almost funny. Now, he had plenty of happy memories, ones that he would cherish until the end. Images of Angela and Charlotte flickered through his head, touching his heart with both warmth and sadness.

He had made new memories in the past ten years, and he would carry those close to his heart as well. Lisbon's face as she opened her office door to find a pony, nights on the late shift spent teaching Rigsby card tricks, literary discussions with Cho, teasing Grace about her naive beliefs.

It was just that there was nothing beyond friendship. Had he never been married, never been a father, never known what more life could offer, he doubted he would have minded. But he _did_ know, and he _did_ mind.

He missed the sense of belonging fully to a family, the sense of knowing that where he was was where he should be.

It was his own stupid fault that he was lonely, though. And it was impossible to get over that enough to make the sort of memories holidays were supposed to have.

However, he hid his blossoming bitterness and sadness from the rest of the team. They were all looking forward to their upcoming time off for Christmas, and he wasn't going to ruin their happiness.

Grace was flying back to Iowa, eager to see her family and meet the new niece that had joined her family a month ago.

Rigsby was going to the southern part of the state on Christmas Day, once he picked up Ben, and had made plans to spend time with his extended family, catching up with the aunts, uncles, and cousins he hadn't seen since his father's funeral.

Cho...well, Jane wasn't entirely sure where Cho was going, but wherever it was, he was looking forward to it. The usually stoic agent had been spending an awful lot of time on the phone lately, and Jane had even caught him smiling after he hung up.

Whatever it was, Jane hoped he enjoyed himself.

It was Christmas Eve, and they were all (Jane excluded) hurrying to finish up their last bits of paperwork before they took off. Someone had been inconsiderate enough to get murdered just a few days ago. Fortunately, the case had been fairly easy to solve, made more so by the fact that the team all worked liked fiends, terrified their plans would be ruined by their inability to catch a killer.

Around noon, Grace tossed down her pen with a flourish, body language screaming that she was blissfully finished with work. Scooping up her coat, she smiled at the three men sitting in the bullpen.

"I'm taking off, guys," she said. "My plane leaves at three and I need to finish packing."

Since it was Grace, she hugged each of them individually, wishing them all a merry Christmas. Jane noticed that Rigsby's arms lingered around her, his nose skimming her hair.

He sincerely hoped those two would find their way back to each other. Everyone deserved a little happiness.

After lunch, he wandered into Lisbon's office without knocking, having grown tired of watching everyone else work.

She glanced up briefly as he entered before turning her attention back to her computer screen.

In deference to the season, he heard Christmas music playing softly from her speakers.

As he passed her desk, he sat down the cup of coffee he had grabbed for her in the break room. Bringing Lisbon coffee was always an excellent way to get her in a better mood.

"Thanks," she said, wrapping her fingers around the new mug. "How'd you know I was thinking about getting some more?"

He shrugged, dropping onto the couch with his own cup of tea. "I can read minds, obviously. I thought you knew that."

She smiled. "Of course. How silly of me to forget."

He blew across the top of his steaming tea. "Leaving early today?"

Her happy expression faded a bit. "I don't really have a reason to," she said, purposely keeping her voice light.

Due to one circumstance or another, she wasn't going back to Chicago this year. It had something to do with one brother and his family going to Florida and the others deciding to just celebrate their holidays separately. Lisbon had been disappointed, but had reasoned that it wasn't worth flying all the way there to not see everyone.

In all the years he had known her, she had never spent Christmas by herself before. He wondered how she was going to handle it.

It would probably be a very sad, lonesome day for her. She'd likely eat ice cream and watch old movies, her favorite guilty pleasures, but he doubted there would be much pleasure in them this time.

He understood the feeling, and his heart suddenly went out to her.

Everyone else got to be happy and surrounded by family. Those that didn't felt like lepers this time of year. He had grown used to it, but it would be all new to Lisbon. She certainly didn't deserve the pain it would bring, not someone as selfless as she was. He wanted to hug her, but she would push him away, he knew.

First and foremost, Teresa Lisbon always stood on her own two feet. It didn't matter if she was hurting.

Maybe, though, he thought abruptly, he could make her holiday a little bit better.

"Lisbon," he said, fleshing out his new idea even as he spoke. "Be my Christmas Eve date." The words came out without thought, but it was too late to take them back.

And he was fairly certain he didn't want to, anyway.

She stared. "What?"

He put his tea cup down. "My Christmas Eve date," he said again, gaining momentum as he went on. "Obviously, I have no plans. You don't either. So let's _make_ plans. No one wants to be alone on Christmas." Not even him, not really.

She studied his face, and he could see the hope that was beginning to bloom in her eyes. "Are you serious?" she finally asked.

"As a heart attack," he assured her. "It'll be fun," he added. "We'll do Christmas stuff."

A small smile flashed across her face, and he knew that regardless of whatever protest she would make, he had already won.

"Christmas stuff," she repeated. "Like what?"

He thought rapidly, making most of it up as he went along. "Um, dinner. People eat on Christmas, right? And since I know you think you'll burst into flames if you don't, we'll go to church." For a moment, he couldn't believe what had just come out of his mouth. The last time he was in a church, he had been crawling up the aisle to talk to Lisbon without being seen.

"You're seriously willing to go to church with me?" She looked skeptical, and he couldn't blame her. Organized religion was all a cult to him, something to be mocked. But there was no going back now.

"I'm willing," he said. "I can't promise I won't crack some jokes during the service, but I can promise that you'll be the only one who hears them."

Slowly, she shook her head. "Jane..." she said slowly, and he knew she was going to give him one, last-ditch attempt at a protest.

So he played his trump card. "Please? I don't want to drive to Malibu tonight." It was something he normally never would have said, and originally he had only planned on using it to get her to say yes. But now that it was out there, he realized that it really was true. He wanted to be here, in Sacramento, with her.

And if he wasn't with her, he would spend his night surrounded by silence, dust, and dim, shadowy memories. In that moment, the thought of returning to his vacant, tomb-like house was nearly unbearable.

"Okay," she acquiesced, "Dinner and church." Her voice sounded as though she was unsure of what she had actually said, and her eyes told him his words had made her sad.

He smiled again, widely this time in both relief and happiness, trying to erase the effect his previous statement had caused. "Oh, that's not all we're doing," he promised. "But it's a start."

She immediately looked suspicious and he congratulated himself.

"Looks like you have a reason to leave early now," he said cheerfully.

Cho stuck his head in the door at that moment, saving her from having to reply. "I'm out of here, boss," the other man said. "Just wanted to say 'Merry Christmas.'"

Lisbon smiled at her second in command. "Merry Christmas. See you in a few days."

Cho nodded, then turned to Jane. "Merry Christmas, man."

"You, too," he replied, grinning. "Have fun with whatever the hell it is that you've managed to keep secret from me."

For just an instant, Cho smiled blindingly. "I will," he said, and then he was gone.

As soon as he was gone, Lisbon turned to him again. "What's he doing to do?"

Jane shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. It's very difficult to be nosy where Cho is involved." Not that he hadn't tried.

She frowned thoughtfully, staring at the empty doorframe.

"If I had to guess," Jane went on, "I'd bet that he's going to see Summer."

He had her full attention now. "Summer? His CI? I thought she wasn't working for us anymore."

He smiled slowly. "She's not, not that I know of," he said. "Ah, my oblivious Lisbon. Is this where I get to tell you that Cho and Summer were an item for some time?"

"An item?" she echoed. "As in, they were dating?" She let out an exasperated breath. "What is it with people in the office and their total _lack_ of understanding about who they can be in a relationship with?" Abruptly, she fixed him with a probing stare. "Rigsby and Van Pelt aren't back together, are they?"

He chuckled. "Not yet, but it's probably only a matter of time."

Under her breath, she swore quietly, taking an angry sip of coffee.

"Oh, stop being so uptight," he told her. "Grace and Rigsby only run into problems when they're _not_ dating. Let's face it, with the exception of Rigsby, Grace apparently only dates men who wish very bad things upon me."

She took a moment to consider his statement.

"It's true and you know it," he said, picking his cup up from the side table. Hurriedly, he swallowed the rest of the brew, then rose.

"Where're you off to?" Lisbon demanded, still clearly put out by the new knowledge he had thrown at her.

He paused at her door. "I have a date to get ready for," he said, as though it was obvious. He'd gotten another idea, and it required a little bit of planning.

"You're making me nervous, you know," she warned.

He shook his head. "Lisbon, part of our night involves going to church. How nervous could you possibly be?" Without waiting for a reply, he added, "I'll pick you up at six."

She was left staring at his back as he exited, taking a moment to toss his tea cup in the dishwasher in the break room. He said a quick good-bye to Rigsby, handing the man a package wrapped in brightly colored paper.

"For Ben," he said, smiling as he grabbed his coat.

It was colder than he'd expected outside, the gray clouds in the west threatening snow. Snow in California on Christmas? The stars must be aligned in some once-in-a-century position.

He stopped at the nearest gas station, wandering inside to pick up the day's newspaper. Back in his car, he scanned the pages until he found what he was looking for. Then he put the Citroen in gear and headed out, his mind on a different mission.

As he turned another corner, he felt a tiny bit of guilt sneak up on him. He was, for the first time in a decade, unexpectedly anticipating a holiday. Through whatever combination of circumstances, he was going to spend Christmas with someone he loved, and he was genuinely looking forward to it. The guilt was never far away, however.

On a whim, he changed direction, mouth tightening as he got close to his destination.

The cemetery was silent, cold, and he had no idea what he was doing there. Since Angela and Charlotte died, he could count on one hand the number of times he had been in this place.

Still not sure why his brain had decided to take him here, he followed the route that would take him to the place where they lay. To his immense surprise and disquiet, there were fresh flowers resting between the stones.

His first thought was Red John, but he dismissed that almost immediately. Red John would have had no way of knowing that he would be here today. After a moment or two of shocked contemplation, he figured it was either Grace or Lisbon.

Probably Grace. She was romantic enough to do something like that and not tell him. They had been closer since he'd returned from Vegas, almost actual friends, and he knew she had a heart large enough to spare a thought for his family, too.

He was touched in some secret part of his soul.

For a second, he could hear Angela's voice in his head. _See, idiot? You're loved, in more than one way by more than one person. Now don't waste it._

Abruptly, he knew what his purpose in coming here had been. He was in danger of being happy, and he thought that seeing the evidence of his greatest mistake would be enough to stymie it.

Instead, the opposite effect had occurred. He felt...better.

And now he was off to have a Christmas Eve date with Teresa Lisbon. He smiled.

In a moment of indulgence, he blew a kiss at the memory of his wife and daughter. Then he turned on his heel, the ground hard under his feet.

The temperature continued to fall as he drove back to his hotel room. God, it really was going to snow. He turned the heater on in the room, then started absently flipping through his closet.

If he was going to call it a date, he was going to act like it, too.

He showered, shaved, did something to his hair. The digital clock beside the bed told him he still had time to kill, so he shrugged into his coat and headed for the supermarket. Scotch was more Lisbon's style, but wine was more Christmas-like.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to buy wine in the first place.

Really, he needed to work on some impulse control. The damn things were getting him in trouble today.

Snow had started to drift down lightly from the sky by the time he pulled into Lisbon's parking lot. Unaccountably nervous, he took a deep, steadying breath, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel still.

This was silly - he was going to be with _Lisbon_, for God's sake. It wasn't really a date - they were just two lonely people who were going to be slightly less alone tonight. They were friends, that was all.

He made a mental note to avoid any mistletoe, and then wondered if that was truly what he wanted. Kissing her wouldn't be a chore, that much was certain. Her lips would be soft and warm and welcoming, all of the things he had been missing in his life, had been denying himself for a decade.

Abruptly, he reigned his mind back in. Perhaps the smartest thing to do would be to turn the car around and hide in his hotel. Maybe he could get roaring drunk and forget about how his life had turned out.

But, no. He had promised Lisbon a date, and that was what she was going to get. He wasn't going to ruin her Christmas further by being unable to keep his daydreams in check.

The car door slamming shut sounded unnaturally loud. Falling snow had a silencing effect on the world around it. He may as well have been the only person alive in the whole city.

Shadows stretched across the lot, and he felt a sense of eager anticipation, one that was unique to Christmas Eve. Like the whole world was waiting.

He shook his head. There was definitely something wrong with him. He could wax poetic to perfect strangers all day long, but very rarely did he do so inside his own head, especially about things that were so ridiculous.

As he approached her door, he found his heart was beating faster than normal. He should have used biofeedback to relax, but it was an almost pleasant sensation.

The last time he was on anything resembling a date, his heart had been beating too fast, too, but the whole thing had been laced by a heavy thread of guilt and remorse. Kristina Frye had been a bad idea, almost from the start.

This was different.

This was Lisbon, his rock, his salvation in more than one way.

Lips quirking slightly, he raised his hand, then stopped, poised above the solid wood of the door. He took one more deep breath.

He knocked.

**AN**: I wasn't sure about the bit with Grace and the flowers, but I wanted our beloved Patrick to figure out that he wasn't as alone as he thought, and it needed to come from more places than just Lisbon. Besides, I think it sounds like something she'd do.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Oh, good. Glad I'm not the only one who loves Christmas.

This is a little shorter than I'd planned, but I decided halfway through that mass absolutely had to be from Jane's POV. And you should listen to Christmas music while reading. Obviously. I did the whole time I was writing, so if it seems a little gooey, blame my Pandora station.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! If I could, I would put Patrick Jane under your tree, complete with wrapping paper and a shiny bow. You guys are the reason stories get written, and I speak for everyone who has ever posted something when I say THANK YOU.

**Starlight and Silent Nights**

**Chapter Two**

Waiting for Jane to arrive was almost giving her a panic attack. She wasn't sure what she had been thinking, agreeing to be his date tonight.

Clearly, she had given into a moment of weakness. No, she didn't want to spend Christmas alone, and Jane had given her an opportunity to change that.

However, she was highly nervous. Jane didn't do things in half measures.

She had left work earlier than she had originally intended to, justifying the action to herself even as she gathered her coat and bag. Usually, she was the first one to arrive at the office and the last one to leave. Surely no one would raise an eyebrow at her early exit today of all days.

Not that there was anyone left at the office who _could_ raise an eyebrow. The place was practically deserted.

The weather surprised her. If she didn't know better, she would swear it looked like snow, despite the seeming impossibility of it.

Most of the time, she appreciated California's weather. She had grown up in the Midwest; she'd been through her share of blizzards. Probably several people's shares, for that matter, and she didn't miss it.

Except on Christmas.

Jane would make fun of her if he saw, but her apartment had been decorated for the season. Since she was twelve years old, it had been her job to produce Christmas spirit. She was the one responsible for trimming the tree, hanging the stockings, and reminding her father to buy presents when he was sober enough to undertake such a task.

It had become a habit to be festive, even if there was no one to see it or to share it with.

She plugged the lights on her apartment-sized tree in, giving the whole place a cozy glow. With the sense of anticipation she was feeling, it finally seemed to be Christmas.

She had been terribly disappointed when she discovered the whole family wasn't going to be able to be together for the holiday this year. Really, she could still fly back, be with Annie and Tommy, at the very least, but she didn't want to be a burden. Lonely Aunt Reese, no place else to go on Christmas.

She wasn't sure her pride could've survived it, as much as she wanted to see her family.

And so she had been looking at Christmas glumly, despondently, wondering about all the choices she had made that had led to her being alone on one of her favorite days of the year.

But now, at least for a while, she wouldn't be.

It was ridiculous, but she had taken her time getting ready, curling her hair, carefully applying her make-up, and, silliest of all, digging out a seldom-worn skirt. Dressing up for Christmas Eve mass was another Lisbon family tradition, and she felt obligated to keep it.

She was all set twenty minutes before Jane was due to arrive. Absently, she straightened her apartment just for something to keep her hands busy, sipping a small glass of wine. If she was going to actually enter a church with Patrick Jane, she felt entitled to have some alcohol in her system. Chances were, she was going to need it.

Every few minutes, she peeked out the curtains. Just before six, she saw the Citroen turn into the lot.

Unexpectedly, she felt a touch of hysteria. She was going on a date with Jane.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Hurriedly, she gulped a mouthful of wine.

It wasn't a date, not really. She needed to remember that. There were rules that needed to be followed, lines that weren't going to be crossed.

Still, it did funny things to her emotions when she distinctly saw Jane take a deep, steadying breath before knocking. She only hoped he wasn't resigning himself to a horrible evening, that he didn't regret asking her.

His smile when she opened the door, however, told her what she wanted to know. "Hey, Lisbon," he said. "Ready to go?"

"Hey yourself," she automatically replied, coat already half on. "I'm ready if you are."

But he stood a moment longer, gaze roving up and down her body. He raised both eyebrows. "A skirt?" he asked. "I didn't even know you owned a skirt."

"Shut up," she said, edging him out of the way so she could shut the door behind them. Her keys jingled merrily in the cold air, and she set out for his car.

"No," he said, catching up with her. "You look lovely. I just wasn't expecting to see your legs." He grinned.

She rolled her eyes. He couldn't see her legs, not really. Her skirt came down to her knees, and with the black tights she wore and the tall boots, she was perfectly well covered.

He rested his hand on the small of her back as they walked towards the car. If she was being honest, it was one of her favorite gestures he made. It was protective, and a little possessive. She fought the urge to smile, despite her earlier annoyance with him.

Jane held the door open for her, not something he normally did. Apparently, he was in date mode. She took a second to wonder how else his behavior was going to be different tonight. Despite her efforts to quell it, she felt a small thrill of anticipation.

He turned to face her for a moment after he sat down in the driver's side. "You really do look lovely, you know."

She was unable to hold her smile in any longer. "Thank you," she said.

He smirked back. "In fact, you should dress like that more often. I bet we'd get suspects to confess in a heartbeat."

As he put the car in gear, she snorted. "Great plan, Jane. Should I start flashing them, too?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I bet that'd have a hell of an effect, too. However, I doubt the rest of us would manage to get any work done. Ever again," he added for emphasis.

She shook her head. "Where are we going?" she asked.

He kept his eyes on the road. "Somewhere simple," he told her. "Even Sacramento shuts down on Christmas for the most part, so our options were rather limited."

Something caught her eye, something she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed before. "Is it snowing?" she wondered, incredulously, peering out of the windshield.

"Yes, it certainly appears to be," he said, humor running through his voice. "Something else I didn't expect for the evening."

She laughed. "I'm almost tempted to tell you to turn around and take me home."

He flashed her a quick glance. "And why is that?"

She widened her eyes. "Are you kidding? People in California don't know how to drive normally, let alone when it's snowing. And if someone hits us in this car, we're both going to die."

"Relax," he told her, "or I'll make you ride in the trunk."

Her eyebrow rose before she'd even thought about it. "Right, Jane. Like you could."

"Don't count on that, Lisbon," he warned, voice very amused now. "You're awfully petite. Additionally, you're unarmed tonight."

She gave him a challenging stare.

His eyes sparkled. "And if you're not, I'd be very interested to know where you're keeping your gun."

He chuckled as she swatted his arm. "Behave yourself," she told him. Absently, she thought she should start keeping track of how often she said those two words a week. Then again, maybe it was something she didn't want to know. It would probably give her a migraine.

The restaurant he took her to was indeed simple, like he had said. However, it was cozy, lit this night by Christmas lights, and she couldn't help but smile as she slid into a corner booth.

Jane caught the gesture. "It does have a nice atmosphere, doesn't it?"

To her surprise, he didn't even order eggs.

Her eyes kept being drawn back to the window, where the impossible snow was still falling. She hoped it held on for the next few hours, regardless of the mess it would cause.

"Making you nostalgic?" Jane asked once, following her eyes.

"A little," she admitted. "I remember a few Christmases in Chicago where there was absolutely no snow. It was the most depressing thing in the world, at least at the time."

"I understand," he told her. "My wife hated snow," he went on, and she tried to keep the startled expression off her face. He never talked about Angela. "That's the whole reason we lived in Malibu, but around Christmas I would always drag them both to the mountains for a few days." His smile was soft, a touch wistful, but mostly happy.

She wondered how often he allowed himself to think about his past, or at least the happy memories that he had.

She knew very well how frequently he thought about the bad parts.

His expression was open, unguarded, the look he only really ever wore with her. Impulsively, she reached across the table for his hand, sliding her fingers over the back of his hand.

"I'm glad we're doing this," he said, and she understood that as bad as Christmas would have been for her, it would always be worse for him. She was thankful that this would ease his pain, at least a little. This would be one holiday that she wouldn't torture herself with images of him rambling around his empty house in Malibu, no company but his grief.

"Me, too," she whispered, and he flipped his hand over, curling his fingers around hers.

The waitress came with their food then, breaking the spell the snow and the lights and his words had woven over them.

Her meal was good, and Jane's face told her his was as well.

"You have a strange and thorough knowledge of most of the places to eat in this city," she told him once, setting her fork down.

"Lisbon, I have a strange and thorough knowledge of many things. Why should restaurants be any different? Besides, I don't do much cooking these days. Unlike you, however, I actually eat." He sipped his tea.

She made a face at him. "I eat just fine, thank you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Today, besides coffee, you've had two bear claws. And the only reason you had _those_ is because I brought them."

There was really no good response to that. She had always been a meal-skipper if something else became a priority. It wasn't a diet plan, it was just sort of what happened.

"Why are you keeping track of what I'm eating, anyway?" she demanded, trying to shift the focus back to Jane.

"It's my job," he said, rolling his eyes. "Someone has to take care of you. And your eating and sleeping habits are very worrisome."

She smirked. "Is that why _you_ can't sleep? Because you're worried about how much coffee I drink?"

He returned her grin, eyes sparkling now. "Some days, it's all I can think about," he said seriously.

Without warning, she tossed her wadded up napkin at him, and he laughed out loud.

The waitress reappeared then, bringing their bill. Jane snatched it up before she could even move. "This one's on me, Lisbon."

She shook her head. "You don't need to do that."

He raised his eyebrows again. "Don't argue with me. We're on a date, remember? A date that I asked you on. Ergo, I'm buying dinner."

Raising her hands briefly in surrender, she reached for her coat. Jane followed suit.

She checked her watch as they crossed the parking lot. "We need to get going if we're going to make it to mass."

He took her arm. "Don't worry," he told her. "Church doesn't start for another hour and a half."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded. "It starts at eight."

Jane opened the car door for her again. "Not the one we're going to."

Immediately, she was suspicious. And nervous. Familiar feelings, both of them, especially when Jane had plans in motion.

He winked at her by way of assurance, and her misgivings grew stronger.

However, she said nothing as he drove, noting the small smile on his face. Whatever he had planned next, it obviously made him happy, so she forced herself to relax.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a parking spot outside a small park. She noticed that they weren't the only people there.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Guess," he said, sounding a like an excited child. He looked a bit like one, too.

However, she remained clueless until she saw the horses and hayrack.

"Really?" she demanded, turning to look at Jane.

"Oh, absolutely," he said. "We're going on a tour of Christmas lights. The _last_ tour, in fact, of the season. They're done after this next circuit."

Shaking her head, she opened the door and waited for Jane to come around the front of the car. "This is pretty hokey, you know."

He laughed. "Yes, my dear. I know. But I warned you that we were going to do Christmas things tonight, and this fits the bill."

"Am I going to have to sit on Santa's lap later?" she asked sarcastically.

His hand on her back urged her forward. "Only if you want to," he said.

She was still dealing with the ridiculousness of it all as Jane helped her onto the hayrack. High heels were really not conducive to that sort of activity. In actuality, she was of the opinion that no one over the age of ten should ever take a tour of Christmas lights.

But when Jane sat down next to her, pulling one of the heavy wool blankets that were provided over their laps, she decided she didn't care all that much.

And he was right – he _had_ warned her of his plans.

The trailer lurched slightly as the horses took off, and caught off balance, she leaned heavily on Jane. His arm wrapped around her waist.

"Easy there, Lisbon," he murmured. "Falling off of a hayrack and being trampled to death by horses is definitely _not_ something I have planned for the evening."

He didn't remove his arm, and when she didn't protest, he adjusted his hold on her slightly, fingers splayed out, half of them resting on her hip.

She was glad it was dark. Maybe it would hide her expression. Or her blush.

But she wouldn't have moved for anything.

To her surprise, the tour was actually entertaining. The array of carefully hung lights, twinkling and swaying in the night, was undeniably beautiful, and she caught herself smiling as they continued on their way.

"See?" Jane whispered once, lips almost touching her ear. "Not so bad, is it?"

"I admit nothing," she whispered back, and he squeezed her lightly.

Before she was quite ready to give up her proximity to Jane's body heat, the horses brought them back to their starting spot. She folded the blanket up, shivering unexpectedly when she pulled it off of them.

Jane gave her his hand to help her down from the trailer, and then kept it as they walked back to the car. He was being very touchy-feely tonight, and she wasn't sure what to make of it.

Granted, she had held on to every light brush of his hands, every time his shoulder had touched hers, every time he had steadied her with a hand on her back, for almost a decade. She cherished each memory, savored them.

But they also did strange things to her heart, filled her with a sense of longing that she was unable to do anything about.

And he had already given her a month's worth of feelings in the span of a few hours. She wasn't sure if her heart could take much more of date-Jane tonight.

Jane cranked the heater as soon as he had turned the key, and she held her chilled fingers in front of the vents. He patted the dashboard affectionately.

"You'll warm up in a second," he said. "The heater in this thing is great."

"It better be," she said, warningly.

She let him drive in silence once more, wondering what was next on his agenda. The Citroen's clock told her they had missed mass at Holy Trinity, the church she usually frequented. The next one wasn't until midnight, and she didn't particularly want to wait that long.

Surprisingly, almost as if he had guessed her mind, he turned the car into the lot of a large church, not one she had ever been to before.

There was a steady trickle of people making their way up the sidewalk to the stone stairs at the front of the building.

She exited the vehicle before Jane could get to her door again. "Did you just pick the first place you saw?" she wanted to know. "Is this even a Catholic church?"

He smiled. "Relax, woman. I did my research, I'll have you know. This church is both Catholic and has a later service, which is what I was after." He took her arm, and she gave in, pressing her fingers into the crook of his elbow. "Besides," he added, "I think you should start going here."

Her eyebrows furrowed as they walked. "And why is that?"

"Because it's your church."

They came into view of the sign in front of the building then, and her mouth dropped open. Warmth rushed into her heart when she realized _why_ Jane had picked this particular church. Tears pricked unexpectedly in her eyes, and she stared at the name emblazoned into the black metal.

_Saint Teresa's. _


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** The responses to this story have been knocking my socks off! You guys are amazing! I'm getting a little teary-eyed just thinking about it!

One more part to this story? Two? I originally planned this as just a Christmas Eve thing, but it's going to spill at least into the early hours of Christmas Day. Thoughts? Whole day of Christmas? What do you guys want?

And before someone asks me, no, I'm not continuing this until Christmas of the next year.

But, seriously, let me know what you want!

Love you guys!

Let the fluff continue…

**Disclaimer:** Who actually reads fanfiction and thinks _I wonder if they're profiting by publishing this stuff_? Seriously, who? I'll let you in on a secret – we're not.

**Starlight and Silent Nights**

**Chapter Three**

All in all, the evening was turning out better than he'd hoped. He'd managed to get his hands on Lisbon several times, and she hadn't threatened to shoot him once.

In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, she was actually enjoying herself.

He knew he was.

Whatever he'd planned for the night went out the proverbial window when she opened her apartment door wearing a skirt. In ten years, he wasn't entirely sure he'd ever seen her legs before.

Not that he could see very much of them now, but it was much more than he was accustomed to. Even with the opaque fabric of her tights, he was forced to deal with the fact that there was a woman hidden beneath her badge. And a very feminine woman at that.

It wasn't as though he was unaware of Lisbon as a woman, far from it, actually. In fact, most of the time, he was _very _aware of it. But she normally made such a point of hiding behind her armor that when something like this happened, he was caught unawares.

Unconsciously, he had started behaving slightly differently, taking her arm, opening doors. By the time he had become aware of his actions, he was unwilling to do things any other way. It felt too nice, having her close, being able to feel her pulse thrum, brush his thumb over her knuckles. And she was allowing all of it. In fact, she was the one that had reached for his hand in the restaurant, after he'd unthinkingly blurted out his old family traditions.

But the tour of Christmas lights had been his favorite part so far.

Watching Lisbon's face, entertained despite herself, bathed in the soft glow of the night and sparkling lights, his arm wrapped around her… whatever else happened tonight, it would go down as the best Christmas Eve he had spent in a decade.

And it wasn't over yet.

As they stared at the sign announcing St. Teresa's mass times, he saw _his_ Teresa discreetly wipe at a tear. He was glad he was getting that reaction – he had wondered if she would simply shake her head.

Originally, when he had grabbed the paper to scan for mass times, finding a church that bore her name wasn't on his mind. But then he'd found St. Teresa's, and he had rearranged his plans instantly so that they could come here.

She met his eyes, her own still glistening. "Thank you," she whispered.

Deciding against sarcasm or something too deep for the moment, he simply smiled and tugged on her arm until she started walking again.

When they were greeted at the door by a cheerful volunteer, he became aware that for the rest of their time here, the casual observer was going to mistake them for a couple. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the night, but he found he was surprisingly alright with that. He certainly didn't want anyone else thinking that she was available.

His wedding ring was cold on his hand, but he ignored it.

Lisbon let go of his arm as they entered the actual church, dipping the tips of her fingers into the basin of holy water. He watched, mildly fascinated, as she crossed herself.

Most of the overhead lights were off, the sanctuary lit by candles and white lights. It was the theme for the evening, Christmas lights, but he didn't mind.

The interior was beautiful, he noted. All marble and gilt, accented with red and white poinsettias and green boughs of pine. On the wall behind the altar, there was a fresco of Saint Teresa. Perhaps it was the lack of light, but he thought the woman in the painting and the woman by his side looked a bit alike.

The real-life Teresa was just missing a visible halo, that was all. He could still see it, regardless, and so could most other people who knew her. No matter what he put her through, she would always give him her loyalty, her compassion.

She really was quite extraordinary.

He let her lead the way to a pew near the back, pausing to let her genuflect before entering. There was a large crowd already present, and he could see more people trickling in. Even as Lisbon knelt, he wondered if there would be enough room for everyone.

By the time the bells rang signaling the start of mass, their pew was bursting. Lisbon had shifted them down until he was pressed flush against the end of the bench. He could feel her whole body against his.

Giving into another idea, he rested an arm on the back of the pew, affording Lisbon another few inches between her and the next person. Almost instantly, she slid a little further into his side. He curled his hand around her shoulder.

In the back of his mind, he thought that he should probably stop finding ways to hold her against him. It was going to become a habit, one he knew he shouldn't repeat.

But it was so tempting, especially when she offered no resistance. She was warm, soft, and she smelled like cinnamon and Lisbon.

He wasn't paying close attention to what was going on around him, preoccupied with the woman under his arm, so when the congregation stood as one, he was caught off guard. Quickly mimicking their actions, he rose, eyes following the procession of the priest down the center aisle.

Jane spent most of the time in church watching Lisbon. She sang along with every Christmas carol, never once reaching for a book. He supposed over a decade of Catholic school would lend itself to an intimate knowledge of song lyrics, but it was still an interesting fact that he filed away.

More than that, he was studying how she professed her faith. He had never seen her pray when, say, she wasn't strapped to a bomb, for example. The idea of Type-A-always-in-control Lisbon putting her life in the hands of an invisible deity was one he was particularly interested in.

She remained pressed against him for the entire hour, and he was certain it was more because she wanted to than because she needed to. When the Lord's Prayer was recited, she took his hand, but he was the one who kept hers after the last _amen_ had been said.

At the end, as everyone stood once more, he caught himself wishing the service would have gone on longer. It was late enough at night that none of his ideas for prolonging the evening were feasible.

All that was left was for him to take her home. Maybe he could talk her into a glass of the wine that was still in the back seat of his car.

He hid his smile as she tucked her hand under his elbow with no prompting. Apparently he wasn't the only one affected by the evening.

She didn't speak until they were already on their way back. "I can't remember the last time I saw the city this dead," she said absently, peering out the window.

The freak snow flurries had stopped before they had arrived at church.

"Even Sacramento takes Christmas off," he said, turning a corner.

If he hadn't turned to look at her at that exact moment, he would have missed her silent intake of breath through slightly parted lips. She was working her courage up for something.

"I think I'm going to watch 'It's a Wonderful Life' when I get home. TCM is showing a bunch of old Christmas movies tonight." Her voice was slightly off, a touch too loud. He knew what she wanted, but he also knew she didn't want to ask.

He let her off easy, as much as it would have amused him to make her take that extra step. Besides, he wasn't going to risk her being too stubborn and ending their evening before it needed to be over.

"Would you like some company? I got some wine earlier, and I'll feel a little like an alcoholic if I drink it all by myself."

The flush in her cheeks was almost imperceptible. "Sure," she said, just a little too quickly to be entirely casual. "If you want."

He smiled. "I do," he assured her. And indeed, he did.

She didn't wait for him to open her door when he parked in her lot, but she did linger by the front of the car for him. That was something.

With sure, automatic movements, she unlocked her apartment, then gestured for him to enter. Much to his amusement, he saw a small Christmas tree in one corner of her living room, glowing merrily.

It was something he wouldn't have expected from her. Hell, the first time he'd been in her apartment, she hadn't even finished unpacking and she'd been there for a few years.

The boxes were gone now, something she'd gotten to during her last suspension. The place looked downright homey, in fact.

There was a small nativity set resting on one shelf. It looked old enough that he felt safe making a guess. "Did this come with you from Chicago?" he asked, pointing at the figurines.

She followed his movement, then smiled with a touch of sadness. "That thing's been around as long as I can remember. My mom always used to let me arrange everything in the manger," she told him. "I was a creative child, so the Baby Jesus wound up being in some interesting places."

"I can imagine," he said, shedding his coat and setting the bottle of wine on her kitchen counter. "Corkscrew?" he added, and she gestured to a drawer to his left, removing her own jacket.

She didn't turn on any of the lamps, seemingly content with the present ambiance. Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she crossed the kitchen and stood on her toes to reach an upper cabinet. She rummaged for a bit, extracting two wine glasses.

He poured, then followed her back to the living room, sitting a respectable distance away, but still on the same piece of furniture.

Lisbon clicked on the television, punched in the channel number, then smiled as the first black and white frames came on the screen.

"I watch this every year," she confided. To his surprise, she unzipped her boots and tucked her feet beneath her.

It was cute, domestic. A very comfortable gesture. He smiled. Officially, then, they had managed to work themselves back into their old, relaxed relationship. He was grateful for that. There had been times recently when he wondered if she would ever forgive him for his sins.

The wine went down easily for both of them, and before very long had passed, Lisbon was pouring them more. Carefully, she padded back to the couch, handing him his glass before sitting down once more, closer to him than she had been before.

He could blame the wine, he supposed, or those damn Christmas lights, but all he could think about for the next half hour was how to get her in his arms again without her realizing what he was doing. He felt like a fifteen year old, except at fifteen, he would have simply draped an arm around her with no thought of rejection or consequences.

Lisbon smiled and laughed when the movie called for it, and he was drawn to the expression on her face. It was open, carefree, a touch hopeful and nostalgic.

He found himself hoping she would tear up, not because he liked to see her cry, but because it would be a perfect reason to touch her again.

The wine was gone again, and abruptly, she turned to him, her cheeks slightly flushed.

"Jane?" she almost whispered.

"Hm?" he murmured, watching her lips. He needed to stop _that_, at least, or the evening was going to get out of hand in a hurry. But she was so close that it was hard to marshal his thoughts.

"Let's make popcorn."

He snorted. That wasn't what he expected. "Fine," he said. "Let's get drunk, eat popcorn, and watch old movies."

She shrugged. "Do you have anything else going on?" Her words were challenging, amused.

He stood, empty glass dangling from his fingers. He reached for her hand, pulled her up next to him. "Lead the way," he said, gesturing to the kitchen.

As she dug out microwavable popcorn, he refilled their glasses, now wishing he would have gotten a second bottle. But surely Lisbon had something stashed away.

He was trying to remember if they had ever gotten drunk together just for something to do. Occasionally they would share a few drinks after a long day or even a shot or two if the case was particularly bad. But never just for fun.

He found he was quite looking forward to it.

The distinct sounds of kernels popping came from the microwave, and Lisbon knelt on the floor, searching through a cupboard until she emerged with a large glass bowl.

"I see we're being fancy tonight," he noted. "Not even eating out of the bag."

"It _is_ Christmas," she reminded him.

He snagged some paper towels from the roll on the counter and refilled their glasses again as she dumped the fluffy white kernels into the bowl.

They resettled themselves on the couch, sitting next to each other by convenient necessity this time, as Lisbon had the popcorn bowl resting in her lap.

He smirked to himself. Popcorn and wine. It was absurd and perfect.

Eventually, the empty bowl found its way to the floor, along with their empty glasses. He figured Lisbon was feeling like he was – warm and relaxed, too much so to bother getting up.

In fact, she was leaning heavily against the back of the couch, feet underneath her again. They weren't quite touching, but he could feel her body heat.

And, just as he'd secretly wished for, the end of the movie had her swiping gently at her eyes. Without saying a word, he slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She didn't fight him, not even a little, but instead, went willingly, one hand resting on his side.

Yes, definitely the best Christmas he'd had in a decade.

A cuddly Lisbon was not something that he got to see every day (or ever, for the matter), and he was very much enjoying it.

The ending credits of 'It's a Wonderful Life' finished, and after a short break, the first, misty scenes from 'A Christmas Carol' came on the screen. It wasn't one of his favorite films, but with Lisbon pressed against him, he would have found about anything tolerable.

Before Jacob Marley had even made his first appearance, her arm had drifted around his waist. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

What were they doing?

His voice of reason piped up. They were loners, both of them, and tonight of all nights, that was difficult to take. So what if they managed to find some small comfort in the other? And it was basically harmless.

They were attracted to each other, and they cared deeply for one another. What was wrong with a little indulgence?

He'd hugged her several times in the course of their working relationship, hell, he'd even told her he loved her once, and they still got along just fine, with no lingering awkwardness.

Tonight was no different, not really. It wasn't as though he was planning on ravishing her on the floor in front of the Christmas tree for the next several hours. Though, he had to admit, the idea did have some merit to it.

Maybe the third glass of wine hadn't been the best plan.

Because now the aforementioned scenario was busily playing itself out in his head. He stared at the fake pine tree in the corner. A roaring fire would be more romantic, but white lights would work just fine.

He blinked several times, trying to dispel the image. Lisbon would shoot him right now if she knew what was on his mind.

Not that she did, he suddenly realized. Her eyelashes had fluttered shut, her head resting heavily against his shoulder, fingers relaxed on his hip.

A tender smile crossed his face.

Carefully, slowly, as not to wake her, he shifted sideways, easing his legs onto the couch and pulling her fully against him. She murmured once, cheek rubbing against his shirt, but relaxed as his hands ran down her back.

There was still a chance she would shoot him for this, but it was much less likely.

He brushed his lips against the top of her head before closing his own eyes.

On the screen, Jacob Marley was rattling his chains and warning Scrooge that the links forged in life would haunt him after death.

Jane could understand the feeling of fetters very well, but for now, Lisbon's head against his heart, he imagined he had broken out of his chains, if only for a moment.

In her sleep, she burrowed closer to him, and he tightened his arms responsively. He wondered how they were going to explain this in the morning.

He supposed they could always blame the wine.

With that comforting thought, he drifted off, warm and peaceful, feeling that for once, all was well in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN**: Right. So I remain undecided about how long this is going to be continuing. New Years, possibly. Or possibly not. Idan has requested Epiphany. Are you just looking for more ways to drag Jane to mass, my dear?

I had a very difficult time writing this chapter. I don't know why. I literally deleted and re-wrote it four times, and I still might hate it. Lisbon's POV is just more difficult for me, but it was necessary. So I did what I always do with writer's block – consume unhealthy amounts of caffeine until my rambling brain comes up with something.

Thanks for the reviews! You are all amazing!

**Starlight and Silent Nights**

**Chapter Four**

She woke up to someone shouting. Her eyes opened clumsily, and she pushed herself upwards, encountering more resistance than she'd anticipating.

Years of training had honed her reflexes, and she became abruptly aware that the noise she heard was Ebenezer Scrooge laughing after waking up on Christmas Day.

The resistance she'd run into was Jane's arms, wrapped around her as he slept. Sleepy green eyes looked up at her, vaguely amused. While she was still half-stunned, he tugged her back down. "Just Scrooge being happy," he murmured. "Don't shoot the TV."

For a few moments, hovering in the odd place between asleep and awake, she rested her head on his chest, trying to focus. It was difficult, though, with his heart beating beneath her cheek.

"Jane?" she finally whispered.

"Mm?" he responded, and she knew without looking that his eyes were closed again.

"How long was I sleeping?"

He sighed. "Slightly longer than I was." His voice was scratchy and unbelievably attractive. "Actually, I vote for you going back to sleep, because that means I can, too. And I am incredibly comfortable right now."

They were both sprawled on the couch, limbs tangled around each other. She was tucked into his side, one knee hooked over his legs.

With difficulty, she forced herself to think past the fact that it all felt strangely natural. She felt warm, protected, which was ridiculous, since the most protecting Jane could do would be to distract someone while she unholstered her weapon.

Also, he smelled phenomenal. It was something she'd noticed before, but she'd never had the opportunity to appreciate it in such a manner.

Maybe she was drunk. That sounded like a reasonable explanation. Her brain was certainly operating as though she was. Yes, blame the wine.

Ignoring her reluctance, she sat up, balancing herself on the edge of the couch. Jane's arms fell from her back to her waist.

She could blame the wine for his behavior, too, thankfully, since all other reasons were too much for her mind to handle right now.

He cracked his eyes open. "That doesn't look like sleeping," he noted, displeasure evident in his voice.

Shaking her head, she stood fully, the world spinning for a moment due to her abrupt change in position. "Jane, I'm going to bed." That seemed like the safest course of action, to put some distance between them. "You're staying here," she added, pointing at the couch. Clearly, they were both a little intoxicated, and he didn't need to drive anywhere.

Slowly, he smiled. She didn't know if it was because he was half-asleep or if it was on purpose, but he looked so sensuous in that moment that it literally took her breath away. "Only if you stay, too," he murmured.

Yes, she was right. Definitely a touch drunk.

"Jane," she began, fumbling for reasons _why_ joining him on the couch was a bad idea. "I'm wearing a _skirt_. And _tights._"

His smile widened. "Yes, I'd noticed that."

"I'm not sleeping in them," she said.

"Teresa," he started, and she felt the familiar funny hitch in her chest that happened every time he used her given name. "There are two possible solutions to your dilemma. I'd state them out loud, but I think you'd probably shoot me." His eyes, fully opened now, twinkled in the soft light from the tree.

Two solutions? Well, she could put on pajamas, obviously. Or she could just take them...

She reached for a throw pillow and smacked him in the chest with it. Chuckling, he tugged the pillow out of her grasp before she could hit him again.

"Good _night_," she said, very emphatically, turning on her heel. His quiet laughter followed her up the stairs.

She wasn't sure what to make of Jane tonight. Or of herself.

The flirting she could handle. They did that frequently, lightly and harmlessly. And the touching, as long as there was a feasible reason behind it, like steadying her on the hayrack or holding his hand during a prayer…that was something she could deal with, too. She could at least have a plausible excuse for why she allowed it.

But sleeping next to him, practically on top of him, was another thing entirely. Drifting off on his shoulder after a few drinks was acceptable, pardonable. Deliberately getting back on that couch with the sole intention of spending the night in his arms was not.

Annoyed now, she changed quickly, shutting drawers with a touch too much force. In deferment to the weather, she dug out pajama bottoms to pair with her typical oversized jersey. It had nothing to do with the fact that she felt strange being in the same apartment as Jane without having pants on.

Certainly not.

She could feel herself scowling as she crawled into bed. The sheets were slick and cool, a far cry from the warm body she had just left. She knew which one she preferred, too.

Forcefully, she shoved that thought away and yanked a pillow over her face. Maybe if she smothered herself she'd stop thinking about how tempting Jane's offer was.

After a few minutes, she was forced to admit it was an unlikely scenario. The mental images that his words had dredged up would probably never leave her. Nor would the feelings.

And, _oh, hell_, it was Christmas. She could consider it a gift to herself.

"Jane!" she called, both hoping and not hoping he had fallen back asleep. She slid to one side of the bed, listening.

Sure enough, to her delight and dismay, she heard his footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, he was leaning against her doorframe, looking delightfully tousled, jacket off and vest unbuttoned.

"Yes?" he asked casually, but there was a look in his eyes that told her he knew exactly what was about to happen. Damn the man, anyway.

With a quick, irritated gesture, she drew back one corner of the comforter. She met his raised eyebrows with an annoyed frown. "If you try anything funny, I'll break your fingers."

He laughed, head titled slightly back, then crossed the room. Flicking off the bedside lamp, he slid in beside her, but left plenty of space between them.

She tried to hold onto her pride. Although she knew how they were going to end up, she would _not_ be the one to initiate it. She had already invited him upstairs, into her bed, and he could damn well take the next step.

Conveniently, she ignored the fact that this whole thing was Jane's idea to start with, _and_ that she had just threatened him with grievous bodily injuries if he did anything she objected to.

Stiffly, she rolled onto her side, back to Jane. The numbers on the alarm clock told her it was almost midnight.

The mattress shook slightly, and she realized he was still laughing. "Shut up," she muttered, closing her eyes.

"Teresa," he said, very softly. "Come here."

She set her jaw. They were going to do this her way.

He sighed. "Fine, you damn stubborn woman." His laughed stopped, and she felt a sudden fear that he wouldn't give in.

But then the mattress shifted, and she felt his arms wrap around her again, pulling her back against his body. Enveloped again in his warmth, and still confident she could use the wine as an excuse, she relaxed, fingers brushing across his hands where they rested against her.

His breath stirred the hair on the back of her neck as he moved slightly closer. "You know, you could have avoided a lot of stress and frustration if you would have just gone with my suggestion in the beginning."

"Shut up," she said again, but it was much softer, more affectionate. "And don't steal all the covers," she warned.

His quiet chuckle, close to her ear, sent a shiver down her spine. She was sure he noticed, but he said nothing.

Instead, he propped himself up slightly, then carefully pressed a kiss to her temple. "Merry Christmas," he whispered. "Now go to sleep."

She rolled until she was facing him, then burrowed into his chest. He let her, hands warm on her back even through the material of her shirt. "Merry Christmas," she breathed back.

Content now, she closed her eyes again. Her last conscious memory was of Jane softly humming something that sounded suspiciously like Silent Night.

**XxXxXxX**

Despite being as comfortable as he'd been in what seemed like forever, Jane found himself utterly unable to sleep.

He had no idea how the night had taken this particular direction.

When he'd asked Lisbon to be his Christmas Eve date, he'd envisioned them having dinner and then making some inappropriate comments during church.

Never once had he imagined that he would be falling asleep here, his arms full of a slightly grumpy Teresa Lisbon.

He smiled affectionately.

No, he hadn't imagined it, but that didn't mean he wasn't happy about the way things had turned out.

She was adorable when she was being stubborn like this, forcing him to make the overtures. He assumed it was partially from fear of rejection, her way of making sure he wanted the same things she did.

She shouldn't have been worried about that.

Really, though, this was quite the way to spend a holiday.

She curled into him further, her breath hot against his neck, and he closed his eyes. It would be entirely too easy to kiss her at the moment. His self-control was being tested extraordinarily this evening, but he held onto it.

This, having her close, was more than he had expected, more than he deserved, and it was going to be enough for tonight.

He trailed his fingers down her back, absently wondering what she would do if he repeated the gesture against her bare skin. Probably threaten him. But then let him do it again.

Slowly, he sank further down into the pillows, pulling her with him. It had been a long time since he had shared this sort of intimacy with someone.

There had been nothing intimate about his encounter with Lorelei in Las Vegas. That had been a means to an end, and he had been so emotionally exhausted after forcing himself to do something so distasteful that he'd fallen into a dreamless sleep for twelve hours. First, however, he made sure to roll over, away from her all-too-willing arms.

But now, with Lisbon, it was unbelievably different. Every few minutes, one of them shifted in an attempt to be closer to the other. It was unconscious on her part, certainly, and he thought it probably was on his as well.

It was just instinct, a natural reaction to want to be as close as he possibly could to her warmth and softness.

He wondered how he was going to talk her into spending Christmas Day with him as well. They had already used the movie watching excuse to pass a few more hours. Nothing worthwhile was going to be open in the city.

Maybe he could cook. Almost immediately, he laughed. He was going to have to go out for groceries, then, since he was certain he wouldn't be able to create a proper meal out of whatever Lisbon had in her kitchen. Probably coffee and frozen pizza. Oh, and scotch. It was a wonder she hadn't died of malnutrition yet. He made a mental note to search through her medicine cabinet to see if she took a multivitamin. If not, he was going to start putting one in her coffee at work.

One of her hands curled around the fabric of his shirt, and he was touched by the gesture. She was worried about him leaving, clearly, or about keeping him safe. Even in sleep, she was trying to protect him.

He kissed her hair, and her fingers unclenched.

His brain was busy trying to figure out ways that he could re-create a scenario where he could sleep next to her again. Well, not that he was sleeping now, but he had been, when they'd been downstairs. He hadn't been lying to her when he'd said he was incredibly comfortable.

He was definitely going to have to work to have this happen again, he thought. Lisbon would blame the wine, he knew, claim that she'd merely had one too many drinks and given into some silly impulses.

Except that he knew she was nowhere close to drunk.

And neither was he.

At some point, he needed to have a conversation with himself about what he was doing. A single night of indulgence was one thing, but now he was trying to plan how to make it happen again? Was he trying to start a relationship with her?

He frowned thoughtfully, then decided that perhaps he was.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Maybe he was just feeling this way because of the sentimentality of Christmas, and how extraordinary tonight had been. But then, if he was being honest, he knew that the night had only been so wonderful _because_ it had been Lisbon at his side. With anyone else, it would have seemed trite, forced.

But she made it perfect, something to be cherished.

He touched his lips to the crown of her head again.

Would she even _want_ to be in a relationship with him? Without a doubt, he was heavily damaged and came with more emotional baggage than any woman should have to deal with. Except that Lisbon had already been dealing with it for a decade, and she hadn't once run from it.

He wasn't sure if there was anyone else he could even be with, ever. She knew most of his deeper secrets, had seen him at his darkest, at his worst.

Imagine having to explain his issues to some random woman he met at the grocery store or some other innocuous place. They would run away screaming.

Let's see: he was responsible for the death of his wife and daughter, had shot and killed two people, slept on a mattress under a smiling face made of blood, and once had sex with a confederate of the same serial killer who had murdered his family.

He should submit that information to a dating site. He wondered who he'd be matched up with, and shuddered lightly.

Contemplative now, he tugged the covers over Lisbon's narrow shoulders, and she murmured indistinctly, arms going around his waist.

He was filing away every memory he could take away from this night, everything he did that caused her to lean into him, to react even in sleep. She liked to be touched by him, despite her sometimes prickly exterior.

The feeling was entirely mutual. In fact, he was quite sure he wanted her touch more. He had lived in a bubble of isolation for so long that he sometimes forgot how healing outstretched arms could be.

And Lisbon's were always open.

He rested his cheek on top of her head.

If dawn decided to hold off for the next few days, he could live with that.

Eventually, he drifted off, Lisbon's warm, sleeping weight pulling him under.

When he woke, it was light outside, and she was gone.

Frowning, he sat up, scrubbing his hands through his hair. From downstairs, he heard the clattering of pans. He hoped he was about to see the rarest of spectacles, Teresa Lisbon making breakfast.

He smelled the coffee even before he reached the kitchen. Her back was to him, facing the stove.

"Morning," he said, and she jumped slightly.

"Jesus, Jane," she complained, waving a spatula menacingly at him.

God, he loved her before she'd had her coffee. If he was lucky, maybe he could get he could get her to threaten his life.

He crossed the room, taking the utensil from her. "I'll do that," he said. "You go have your coffee before you shoot me."

Predictably, she yanked the spatula back, giving him a dirty look. "I'm not sure coffee will save you."

He smiled. "Well, Merry Christmas to you, too, my dear."

She frowned. "Merry Christmas," she said grudgingly, and this time he laughed aloud. Despite her better efforts, he saw her lips twitch.

This would be what mornings were like if they were really together, he thought, and the sudden _want_ took him aback. He _wanted_ this, wanted to bicker with her in the morning after spending the night curled up together.

Every excuse he had ever come up with to avoid this played through his head. Red John, emotional unavailability, Red John again, his road to revenge, and Red John once more.

This time, however, he had a very compelling counter-argument: he wanted to be with her. She made him happy.

Everything else seemed rather unimportant.

She turned back to the stovetop, and he peered over her shoulder at the frying pan, ostensibly to check on the eggs. However, he took the opportunity to lightly rest his hand on the small of her back. It was a casual gesture, but he felt her lean back ever-so-subtly into his touch, and he was forced to hide his smile.

Yes, she wanted a relationship with him, too.

Now all he had to do was convince her of that.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

**AN:** Wow, this story sort of just took on a mind of it's own and veered off into a direction I wasn't planning on going. Ah, well. What're you going to do, right?


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **I feel like this chapter is a little goofy, but maybe it's alright? And, funnily enough, it was Jane's POV giving me fits this time. Normally, his thoughts are sort of automatic for me.

Go figure.

Thanks for the reviews, guys. I'm a little taken aback by all of them (in the best way humanly possible, I might add)! You all make me a very, very happy person!

**Starlight and Silent Nights**

**Chapter Five**

Teresa Lisbon was a woman that had been involved in her share of one night stands. She wasn't ashamed of them, generally speaking, and the next mornings had never been particularly awkward. She wasn't given to silly romantic notions, and so she had either left or kicked her partners out before dawn had even broken.

But now Patrick Jane was hovering in her kitchen, looking unfairly sexy with his unruly blonde curls and stubbled jaw. His presence was almost giving her an anxiety attack.

And she hadn't even slept with him.

Well, she supposed she had in the literal sense. Twice. In one night.

She resisted the urge to stick her head in the freezer. Her blood was staring to heat up. What was wrong with her?

In reality, she knew the answer. Jane, _emotionally unavailable Jane_, had been very _there_ last night. She wasn't sure what to do.

He was like…some distant movie star. Safe to look at, to want, mainly because she knew she would never have him. He was untouchable, and so it was safe to dream.

But then, this morning, she had woken up with her head on his chest, one of his hands tangled in her hair, the other resting on her waist. He had looked deeply peaceful, deeply relaxed.

She'd panicked.

Extracting herself as carefully as she could, she fled to the sanctuary of the living room. That was no good either, however, since his vest and jacket were draped across the back of the couch. So she'd rested her hips against the kitchen counter, away from the living room, and tried to calm down.

She was being ridiculous.

They were friends, firstly. Friends that'd had a few drinks and fallen asleep, that was all. Emphatically, she glossed over the part where she'd allowed him into her bed.

And it wasn't so surprising that they'd wound up the way they had. It was human nature to gravitate towards warmth, and Jane was most definitely _warm_. She remembered that very vividly.

So. Drinking and unconscious instincts. That was the way she was choosing to play this. It would be fine, it would be no big thing. It wasn't something they would ever talk about again.

Satisfied with her plan, she'd set out to make breakfast. Her rationale was that if she didn't start it, Jane would when he got downstairs, and the less he rifled through her apartment the happier she would be. But first, she set the coffee to brew. If there was ever a morning she wasn't willing to face without caffeine, this would be it.

She had been so engrossed in her task that she hadn't even heard him enter the room. When she turned around, she could feel her brain start to function differently.

She'd said something, though she couldn't remember what. All she could think of was how she wouldn't mind waking up to a sleep-rumpled Patrick Jane more often. And that was dangerous territory.

Especially since the aforementioned dangerous territory was currently standing directly behind her, one hand on her back, critiquing her scrambled eggs.

"Hmm," he murmured, lips far too close to her ear. "Almost time to add cheese. Fridge?"

She nodded, and he exited her personal space. She let out a breath, muscles relaxing. Stupidly, the only thing her heart wanted was for him to come back.

Jane handed her the bag of shredded cheese and sat a full mug of coffee next to her on the counter.

"There's tea in the cupboard above the sink," she said, pleased that her voice, at least, sounded normal.

"Excellent," Jane replied, reaching over her to grab the kettle.

A few minutes later, they were sitting on the couch, plates balanced on their laps, paper towels serving as napkins. The strangeness of the situation was starting to wear on her again. Breakfast with Jane wasn't unusual. Breakfast with Jane in her apartment was.

He looked like he was contemplating something, and that made her nervous.

"Big plans for the day?" he asked, forkful of eggs on the way to his mouth.

"Not really," she replied. "There's a football game on later that I'd like to watch, but other that, there's not much else on my schedule."

"Interesting," he said.

She didn't particularly think so, but then again, she'd never been able to figure out quite how Jane's thought process worked.

Again, the expression on his face told her he was thinking very hard about _something._

"Alright," she finally said. "Out with it."

He looked up at her, eyes wide.

"You look like your head is about to explode, Jane. What's on your mind?" She raised an eyebrow.

His smile was sheepish, and she swore she saw a hint of color in his cheeks. "I was actually wondering if you wanted to do something."

Well, that was something she hadn't expected. "Like what?" she asked, tone sharper than she'd intended. "Most things are closed today," she added, voice softer now. Did he really want to spend more time with her?" She tamped down the fluttering in her heart.

"I know," he responded. "That's why I'm thinking so hard. I can't come up with anything."

She was unexpectedly touched. For Jane to a) admit that he wanted to spend more time with _someone_ (let alone her) and to b) admit that he couldn't come up with a solution to a problem was a fairly big deal.

The expression on his face was disappointed, wistful. He really didn't want to be alone. She wanted to hug him.

Shrugging, she took another bite of eggs. "We can always hang out here," she said, aiming for nonchalance.

His answering smile almost took her breath away. "I'd like that," he said softly.

He left a half hour or so later after helping her clean the kitchen, with the promise to return in a few hours.

She wondered if he would show up in a suit again. And then she wondered if he even owned anything else. Jane in jeans…it seemed bizarre, unnatural.

In desperate need of something to occupy her time and her mind, she methodically made her bed. Giving into another moment of weakness, she held the pillow Jane had been lying on that morning close to her face. She could still smell his cologne on it.

She hugged it to her briefly, then chided herself ferociously. She wasn't fifteen, for God's sake.

Patrick Jane was decidedly off limits. She was technically his boss. It didn't matter if his smile occasionally made her go slightly brain dead or that she replayed the time he'd told her he loved her in her head nearly every day.

They were friends. Who were going to spend some time together today. That was it.

And, above all else, she was going to sleep in this bed by _herself_ tonight.

Probably.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

They spent the afternoon on her couch for the most part, alternating between Christmas movies and football games.

As much as he had enjoyed her sentimentality the night before, Jane found her expressions while yelling at a bunch of overpaid professional athletes vastly amusing.

"Who taught that idiot how to run a post pattern? A blind person?" she sat roughly back against the cushions, taking another sip of her beer and scowling at the television. "I've seen five year olds do a better job than that."

With a little difficulty, he hid his grin.

After breakfast that morning, he'd gone back to his hotel room to shower and change. And to think.

A great deal had happened since the last time he was in this room, and he needed to collect his thoughts somewhere where he wasn't in danger of being distracted by how good Lisbon smelled, for example, or how her tousled hair was begging to be combed through by his hands.

Those particular mental images weren't helping.

Was there a natural way to progress in their relationship from just friends to something more? If he was being honest, the feelings between them had been more than merely platonic almost from the beginning.

But.

How to convince her that moving forward with him was the best decision she could make was the dilemma he was facing.

It wasn't as though he could just come out and say it. He had been as careful as she was to not let any deeper feelings show.

Of course, maybe all that went out the window last night when he climbed into bed next to her. She wanted him there; he wanted to be there with her. Surely that was worth something.

However, this _was_ Lisbon, and if anyone could make a compelling argument against her own personal happiness, it would be her.

Sighing, he had gotten ready, then made a quick phone call. After hitting the disconnect button, he tapped out a text message to Lisbon.

_Don't eat. I'm bringing lunch. _

He grabbed his keys and wallet before reaching for his jacket. The phone buzzed.

_It better not be healthy. _

Smiling, he shook his head. She was lucky she had a fantastic metabolism. And he knew enough to not order her the low-fat version of anything.

Traffic was light still, and he made it to the restaurant and then to Lisbon's in record time.

She answered the door quickly, which meant she'd been waiting for him. Her expression was a little strange as she took in his appearance.

"What?" he asked, shrugging his coat off and handing her the bag of take-out.

"Nothing," she said, eyebrows still furrowed. "I'm just not sure if I've ever seen you without at least most of a suit on."

Instinctively, he looked down. He was wearing jeans. Laughing, he toed off his shoes. She was probably right. Casual clothing was not something in his wardrobe that got much use.

"Put your eyes back in your head, woman," he teased. "Would it make you feel better if I was wearing a vest?"

Amused now, too, she gave him a considering stare. "Maybe." She turned her attention to the food, opening the paper containers until she found something that suited her mood.

They'd bickered lightly for the rest of the afternoon, but very comfortably. He kept coming up with excuses to touch her, picking an invisible piece of lint out of her hair, poking her gently when she got mouthy.

Several times, Lisbon got up to get more napkins or grab another beer. Whenever she sat back down, she was a few inches closer to him than she had been.

By the third quarter, their shoulders were touching.

The next time she swore loudly at a dropped pass, he curled a hand on her shoulder. "Easy, Lisbon. Giving yourself a heart attack isn't going to improve anyone's hand-eye coordination."

She elbowed him in the ribs, and he slid his arm fully around her, chuckling. Although she gave him a dirty look, she relaxed, turning sideways and swinging her legs onto the couch.

He shifted slightly, and her head fell onto his chest.

From where she now was, she couldn't see his smile. He could certainly see hers, however, no matter how she tried to hide it.

So. She wasn't willing to fully initiate contact, but she had no intention of pushing him away. Maybe he should force her to make the next move. Up until now, she had sort of…accidently ended up in his arms. She was going to have to put herself there next time.

The game ended, but neither of them moved.

Lisbon scrolled through the channels critically, occasionally making a face. "You'd think there'd be more options on Christmas. Instead it's just Lifetime movies and re-runs of Jersey Shore."

Jane had no desire to watch either of those things. "I'll pass."

She stretched, going back through the channels again, then resettled herself against him.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, _I could get used to this_, but he held them in. It had taken them nine years to get to this point. He didn't need to screw it up within the first twenty four hours.

And did it really matter, where they were going with this? He knew better than everyone that the plans you make can change in a heartbeat. They were both there, together, and he was willing to bet that they were both perfectly happy in this moment. It was enough.

"Do you want to order pizza?" Lisbon asked, finally settling on 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas.'

"If you're not sick of me," he replied. It was partly a joke, but he was trying to gauge her reaction. Was this too much for her?

Her lips curved up. "Not yet. You've been very well behaved today."

He chuckled. "Consider it your Christmas present."

There was a pause. Then, "Jane?" she said, voice a bit softer.

"Hmm?"

Her fingers came to rest lightly on his forearm. "Thank you for last night. I had a great time."

He squeezed her gently. "You're welcome. And I'd bet I enjoyed myself more than you did."

"I doubt it," she replied, very quietly now.

He didn't, but it wasn't something he was going to argue. "I was very happy to be of service, my dear. You made a lovely Christmas Eve date."

"You weren't so bad yourself," he told him.

Abruptly stretching upwards, she brushed her lips across his cheek before returning her attention to the television.

After a few minutes, he tugged his phone out of his pocket. "Pizza?" he reminded her.

She sighed after he placed their order. "I'll be glad to go back to work tomorrow," she said. "I'd get fat if I kept this up."

He snorted. "Sure you would. Lisbon, you could gain twenty pounds and still not be fat."

She apparently was horrified by the idea of twenty whole pounds. "Let's hope I don't find out if you're right or not."

A comment came to him, a pregnancy reference, but he found suddenly that it wasn't something he wanted to tease her about. The images that were coming to his mind made his heart ache strangely.

But now was most assuredly not the time for thoughts like that.

They untangled themselves enough to eat their pizza, and he was waiting to see what her next move would be. Whatever happened after this point was her call. If she wasn't brave enough to go after what she wanted, then he would leave, no matter his disappointment.

To his great relief, after she took their plates to the kitchen, she resumed her position in his arms without any prompting at all. Still, though, they had already established that this was alright, wasn't crossing any lines from which they couldn't return.

If hard pressed, they could always argue that it was nice to have someone to hold you, and it hadn't meant anything.

It didn't matter if they both knew better.

The night got later, and he knew he needed to force her into her next decision. She was leaning on him heavily, her warm body making him drowsy. "It's getting late," he murmured to the top of her head. "If you want me on time for work tomorrow, I should go."

She stiffened, and he could almost see the wheels in her mind start to turn.

"Since when did you need sleep?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Then it's for your benefit," he said. "I can nap during the day. You, however, are the boss."

She took a deep breath, let it out.

_Please_, he thought. _Work up the courage to ask_.

"Jane," she began, voice almost wistful. But then she shook her head, losing the thread of whatever she was going to say.

He could feel her pulse thundering rapidly, and he knew that her desire for him to spend the night was warring with her fear that he would tell her no. Maybe he was being cruel, maybe it wouldn't hurt to help her get the words out.

"Teresa," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. "If you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask."

Still, her eyes were wide and fearful, and he suddenly understood that she was almost as afraid of what it would mean if he spent another night here as she was of the idea that he would go.

He smiled softly, reassuringly. "Don't think so hard. Last night was nice, yes?"

She nodded, lips pressed together in a firm line.

"Then it stands to reason tonight will be nice, too." He slid his hands down her arms until he caught her wrists. "Stop trying to put a label on this. It is what it is. You don't have to define it and stick it into a neat box."

There was a moment of silence as she thought. Then, "Okay," she whispered.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "Teresa," he said again. "You're still going to have to ask."

Her lips twitched, and she took another deep breath. "Stay," she finally said.

"Was that a question or an order?" He chuckled.

She furrowed her brows in annoyance. "Will you please stay?" she asked, tone not particularly affectionate.

He laughed louder at her grumpy demeanor, and she pulled away.

"Forget it, Jane." Her cheeks were stained with bright color.

She went to stand, but he curled his hands around hers and tugged her back. "I'd love to stay," he told her. "Thank you for asking."

Twenty minutes later, despite her clearly lingering annoyance with him, he slid into her bed for the second time in two days, waiting for her to join him. He set the alarm on his phone for far too early.

Lisbon appeared in the door to her room, pajamas on again. He missed seeing her in _just_ the jersey, but he supposed she wasn't ready for that quite yet. Maybe he wasn't either. She padded across the carpet and turned off the light without saying a word.

In another moment, she was in his arms, head resting against his heart.

"No labels?" she verified. "We're not calling this anything?"

He shook his head. "No labels. We're still just us."

_Just us_. One corner of his mouth turned up.

"And you _do_ want to be here, right?" The uncertainty in her voice made him a little sad. She had some issues with insecurity, Lisbon did, at least when it came to him. Realistically, he should have expected it. It was something he was going to have to work on.

"You would have to try very hard to get me to leave," he promised.

"Okay then," she murmured, and he stifled his laughter.

She was silent then, her breathing becoming deep and even. He folded one arm behind his head, staring at her ceiling and wondering how life had changed so abruptly in the past few days.

It was a good change, but still, there was no going back from it.

Lisbon's hand tightened around his waist unconsciously, and he leaned his cheek on her hair.

No, there was no going back.

Thank God.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **Chapter Six? Already? How did that even happen? I'm thinking this chapter, and then one more, and we'll be done, although I may consider an epilogue.

Thanks once more for all of the reviews! You guys continue to prove why The Mentalist fandom is the best one out there!

**Starlight and Silent Nights**

**Chapter Six**

His alarm went off at six sharp. By the time he managed to get it to it, Lisbon had already elbowed him in the ribs. Painfully.

"Patience, woman," he said, voice hoarse with sleep. "I'm sorry I don't have your reflexes"

He fumbled for the phone on the bedside table, pushed a button. The beeping stopped as abruptly as it began, and he flopped back down onto the mattress.

Lisbon burrowed back into his arms almost immediately. "It doesn't take quick reflexes, Jane," she said grumpily, eyes never opening.

He shook his head, ran a hand through the hair cascading down her back. "My apologies. I think I must've been confused when I woke up." That, at least, was true. He slept in about four places these days, and three of them were in CBI Headquarters. The attic, his couch in the bullpen, the couch in Lisbon's office. His other spot was his hotel room.

Lisbon's bedroom looked literally nothing like any of those places, except for the fact that it had a ceiling. It was warm here, peaceful, like it was somewhere meant to relax the occupants into slumber.

It had certainly worked on him.

He stretched as best he could with Lisbon still draped across his chest. The woman may have been the poster child for the NRA, but she was certainly cuddly when she wanted to be. Of course, he had known that for years. He'd just never had the opportunity to prove his theory right.

"I should get up," he said.

She shook her head. "Not yet," she murmured, arms tightening around him.

He couldn't help his smile. "You know, usually my boss gets mad at me if I'm late."

She still didn't open her eyes. "I bet she forgives you this time."

"I don't know," he went on. "She can be awfully prickly in the morning."

Finally, her lashes fluttered. Green eyes stared at him, clearly irritated. "She _will_ be," she said, "if you don't shut up."

With some difficulty, he held his laughter in, then shifted until he was facing her. Her head was pillowed on his arm, one of her hands pressed into his side. He didn't speak, just brushed his thumb down her pale cheek until her annoyed expression vanished.

He wanted to kiss her. Badly.

Crazily enough, however, given their current positions, he wasn't sure if it would be welcomed. She didn't want this to _be_ anything. That much, at least, she had made very clear.

The moment his lips touched hers, he could guarantee whatever was between them would definitely become _something_.

And he was fairly sure it was something already, regardless of Lisbon's wishes.

She let out a soft breath, and his gaze was drawn to her mouth again. It would be so very easy to move those last, critical inches, to give into a desire kept in check for the better part of a decade.

"You're lovely to sleep with, you know," he murmured, smiling gently at her.

Although it was hard to be certain in the darkness, he thought he saw her blush. Her eyes dropped to his lips, and he knew precisely what was going through her mind. He felt his heart speed up in response, felt his muscles tense.

But then, the want in her eyes faded, and she hid her face in his chest.

Well, at least he was right. It was too soon to kiss her. She needed to admit to herself that she wanted more than a warm body to sleep next to.

He imagined it was going to take her some time. After all, she'd been pushing her feelings about him to the darkest, most secretive parts of her heart since they'd met.

He'd been doing the same thing, too. Admitting them to himself however, dragging them out of the shadows and letting the sun touch them…It was powerful. Euphoric. It made what he felt for her _right_.

She made him happy. He loved her. And that was _alright_.

The alarm on his phone went off again, and he hurriedly silenced it before Lisbon stuck him in the ribs again.

He sighed, sitting most of the way up. "I really do need to get going," he told her.

"I know," she said sullenly.

Compared to the warmth of the bed, the air temperature in her room was noticeably chilly. Lisbon snagged the pillow he had been lying on as soon as he was upright, wrapping her arms around it. He saw her subtly inhale, searching for a trace of his cologne or aftershave, and his heart gave an answering thud.

"See you after bit," he told her, tugging the covers up over his shoulders. "Don't sleep too late."

She made an indistinct noise as he left the room.

On his way to the door, he stopped in the kitchen and rummaged for a bit. The coffee was just starting to percolate as he tugged on his jacket. Lisbon would at least wake up to fresh coffee when she decided to wander downstairs.

He had lots of favorite Lisbons – Lisbon in a dress, Lisbon walking all over a man who'd dared insult her, flirtatious Lisbon – but he thought that mildly-grumpy-in-the-morning-still-warm-from-sleep Lisbon was his new favorite. Especially if part of her body temperature was due to being wrapped up with him the entire night.

Now _that_was a distracting image. In fact, it was so distracting that he realized suddenly he was at his hotel room with no memory of getting there.

He showered quickly. As the hot water slid over his body, he couldn't help but regret that it was washing away any remaining hint of Lisbon's scent from his skin.

Work was going to be interesting today. They had spent the last two days blurring the lines between them, and he wondered if Lisbon would try to redraw them.

Cho and Rigsby were both already in the bullpen when he arrived. The two men seemed joking and relaxed, telling him wordlessly that their holiday had been good. Grace's desk was empty – she was staying in Iowa for the next several days. Rigsby kept flicking his eyes at the unoccupied space.

Ten minutes later, Lisbon made her appearance. She address her team briefly before retreating to her office. Never once did she look at him directly. He hid his smile behind his tea cup.

A few quiet hours passed before the phone rang, and whatever Christmas peace that was lingering was effectively shattered.

"Got a hot one," Cho said, hanging up the receiver and heading to Lisbon's office.

Regretfully, Jane set his second cup of tea down and stood, stretching. The motion wasn't nearly as enjoyable when there wasn't a slumbering senior agent resting against his chest.

He waited for her by the elevator, Cho and Rigsby having gone ahead to the parking garage.

She was in profession mode again, badge and gun taking their place as her personal armor. It was almost impossible to reconcile the image she was projecting with the woman whom he'd spent the past two nights dreaming next to.

"Where're we going?" he asked, pushing the _down_ button.

"Oakland," she told him.

"Hmm," he said. "Gang related?"

She shrugged. "That would be my first guess, but Cho said the AG's office didn't have many details yet."

He sighed as the elevator car arrived. "That probably means someone important had the misfortune to die there."

Lisbon pressed the button for the parking garage, and the doors shut with a slight rumble.

Just to be difficult, he stood closer to her than was necessary. She gave him a look, but said nothing.

"How was your coffee this morning?" he asked nonchalantly.

As he had intended, the question reminded her that he had been the one to make it, which, in turn, forced her to remember what he had been doing in her apartment in the first place. Her cheeks colored.

"Just fine, thank you," she said.

"Happy to hear it," he replied. "Coffee making isn't really my forte, so I'm glad I didn't screw it up too badly."

Clearly, continued references to the past few days made her uncomfortable. "Jane," she warned.

He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "What? No one's here but us. Besides, it was just a question about coffee. It was perfectly innocuous."

"Still," she persisted, and he realized there was an opportunity here that he wasn't taking advantage of.

"Fine," he said, facing her fully. Very deliberately, he focused his eyes on her lips. "I won't bring it up."

She took an unconscious half-step towards him, pupils already dilating.

"In fact," he went on, voice very soft now, sultry even, "We'll just pretend the past two days never happened." Slowly, he tilted his head down, making his intentions very clear. "That's what you want, isn't it, Teresa?" He slurred her name, _Tereeza_, and he noted that her eyes were fully glazed and fixated fully on his mouth.

"Hmm?" she murmured, apparently vaguely aware that he'd asked her a question.

"What do you want?" he breathed. He dipped his head, forcing her to meet his eyes. The green of her irises was almost totally eclipsed by the heady black of her pupils.

Her lips parted, and, just like he had planned, the elevator dinged again, signaling their arrival. He stepped back, waiting until she'd looked away in heated embarrassment before silently letting out a shaking breath. He was lucky his timing had been so accurate; in another few seconds, Lisbon would have found herself pinned against the wall, his mouth slanted roughly over hers.

He resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair. It was an uncharacteristic gesture, and she didn't need a reason to think he was so deeply affected. The whole point of this exercise was to make _her_ admit that he wanted _him,_, not the other way around.

If she'd asked, of course, he'd tell her. But he knew very well the words would remain unspoken.

She all but stormed out of the elevator, and he sauntered behind, smirking slightly. All things considered, that had gone nicely.

He had introduced a mundane, case-related topic on the drive to Oakland, and Lisbon had gratefully seized on it. Clearly, her game plan was to continue pretending that nothing had happened between them.

She was a very stubborn woman, Teresa Lisbon, but he hoped she wasn't delusional. This was just one instance where she wasn't going to get her way.

For the rest of the day, he invaded her space every chance he had. And, since he was a take-charge sort of guy in these sorts of circumstances, he had a lot of chances.

He manufactured every conceivable situation he could where it would be mildly appropriate to touch her. And then he took advantage of them.

He drug her to look at something in a shallow pit, just so he could take her hand and help her out of it. He brushed dirt off of her jacket. Once or twice, he accidently on purpose bumped into her, and let his hands linger against her.

By the time they climbed back in the SUV, her nerves were clearly frayed. The best part was that she couldn't chew him out because she was pretending it was all normal. He smiled smugly the entire way to HQ.

The rest of the afternoon consisted of the regular case procedures. The victim's family decided to visit them instead of the other way around, and he knew better than to misbehave. Instead, he sat sympathetically by Lisbon in her office, listening to the retelling of someone's life that had just been abruptly shortened.

The office cleared out around five that night. Lisbon, predictably, was still working. He stood quietly in her door for a moment, admiring the picture she made, before clearing his throat loudly.

She looked up and smiled for a second, forgetting that she was irritated with him. He could tell the exact second she remembered.

"Need something?" she asked brusquely.

"Yes," he told her, entering the room fully.

She watched him with wary eyes as he sat across from her. "What's that?"

"I need you to go home," he said quietly.

Her brows furrowed. "Why?"

He sighed. "Because it's time to go. There is absolutely nothing on your desk right now that is going to help you solve this case. Leave it until the morning."

She scowled at him. "I'll stay here, thanks."

He reached across the desk and turned off the small lamp. "Nope."

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

"Making you go home," he said, as if the answer wasn't obvious. "Stop arguing with me. I've carried you bodily out of this building before," he reminded her. "I'll do it again if I have to."

There was a shocked silence while she tried to formulate a sentence. Instead, he handed her the blazer hung up behind the door.

"Let's go," he said. "You know you want to." His smile was coy.

Shaking her head, as though she couldn't quite believe what she was doing, she stood and allowed him to slide her jacket on.

"You sound like you're up to something," she said suspiciously, locking her office door behind them.

"Not a thing," he promised.

They rode the elevator in silence, Lisbon shooting him considering glances the whole way. He walked her to her car, parked a few away from the Citroen. "Have a good night," he said, smiling perhaps a touch too widely.

She looked surprised, and it took her a second to conceal her disappointment. "Uh, you too," she automatically replied, sliding into the driver's side of the black Chevy.

He waved cheerfully at her for a moment, then headed to his own vehicle.

His next plan was underway. All he could do now was wait.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

Lisbon wasn't sure what was going on.

She had been _so sure_ Jane was coming home with her, or that they would at least go grab dinner somewhere, that his abrupt departure at her car door had left her feeling empty and bereft.

Not that she had any right to do so. Hell, she was the one insisting that nothing was going on between them, so Jane was under no obligation to act like her boyfriend.

The thought pained her, but not as much as the idea of sleeping alone tonight did.

He had almost kissed her in the elevator today. Looking back on the event, she realized what he had been trying to make her do. But she knew him well enough to know that it had very nearly backfired on him.

That was something else to think about. Jane wanted to kiss her. How did she feel about that? She considered. _Giddy_ came immediately to mind, followed by _impatient_, followed by _please please please please please._

She scrubbed a hand down her face.

This was getting out of control in a hurry.

She scowled at the cell phone currently resting on her coffee table. It wouldn't be hard to get what she wanted. All she would have to do would be to hold down "1" on the keypad, and Jane's phone would be ringing in a matter of seconds.

He would come, she knew. But he would make her ask. And she didn't want to.

Her entire life depended on her not being afraid. Generally speaking, she wasn't. There were very few threats that couldn't be handled with a loaded gun.

Unfortunately, emotions were annoyingly unmoved by weapons.

Loudly, she sighed and pushed herself off the couch. Her evening was dragging miserably. She wondered if that was part of Jane's plan, too. Having her leave work earlier so she would have _more_ time to wish he was there.

Probably.

The jackass.

She paced around her apartment for a while with a rising sense of hysteria. What was wrong with her? Yes, she wanted him, loved him, would do anything for him, but it wasn't as though any of that was a new development.

It was just that…now it almost looked like she was going to be able to get what she wanted. The ache of that yearning, however, had become as much a part of her as her very soul, and the idea that she could lose something that had become so engrained in the fabric of her life was vastly unsettling. It was as if the loss of her pain would cause another hole in her heart.

It was ridiculous and silly and flat-out crazy, she thought, but it was what it was.

The past few days had clearly been a mistake. She had been able to deal with her feelings towards Jane just fine, thank you very much, and now they were all mixed up. Now she knew what it was like to wake up next to him, or to go to bed with him at night. She knew, and she wanted it again. Badly.

She showered for the second time that day, hoping the heat would soothe her. It didn't. There was only one solution to her problem.

With shaking hands, she brought up Jane's contact information on her phone, stared at it. "Screw it," she whispered, and hit the _send_ button.

He answered on the first ring. "Lisbon. To what do I owe the honor?" To someone who didn't know him as well as she did, his voice would have sounded supremely unconcerned. She knew better. There was a slight hitch in his breathing, a small sign that told her he hadn't just been waiting for her call. He had _wanted_ her to call.

"Jane," she said, and she knew her own voice was all wrong. "Can you come over?" She closed her eyes, wondering if letting the words just tumble out was the best idea.

There was a small pause. "Sure," he said. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

She hung up without bothering to say goodbye. Clinically, she knew she was trembling. Her mind didn't seem to be working right at all, and the panic she had been fighting off started to work its way to the surface again.

Her heart was thundering so loudly in her ears that she almost didn't hear Jane knock. It took her two tries to unlatch the chain.

He took one look at her face before pulling her into his arms. "What's wrong?" he asked, hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. "What is it?"

She shook her head, arms sliding under his jacket. "Nothing."

He tried to take her chin in one hand, but she resisted, pressing her face into his neck. To her surprise, she felt tears pool in her eyes. Before she could get her wild emotions under control, one slipped out.

"Teresa," Jane whispered, now sounding genuinely concerned, "please tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing," she said again, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Can we just…" she trailed off for a moment, gathering her words. "Can we just go to bed? Just go to sleep?" She could hear the underlying hysteria.

His arms tightened around her. "Yes," he murmured, "of course."

It was only when they were wrapped around each other once more that she felt her heartbeat start to come down again. She sighed, and more of the tension left her body.

Jane's silence wasn't peaceful. He wanted an explanation. But she couldn't deal with it tonight. "You promised me I didn't have to label this," she accused. "And now you're trying to make me."

His hand stroked her hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Then, "Tell me what you're so scared of."

"Not tonight, Patrick, please," she begged, using his given name for the first time. "Just please stay here. I just don't want to have to-"

"Shh," he cut her off, firmly but with gentleness. "It's alright. I'm not going anywhere, I swear. It's alright," he repeated. "Go to sleep, Teresa. I'll be here when you wake up."

She took slow, deliberate breaths, and her crazed emotions gradually faded away. Eventually, she slept, comforted by the knowledge that he had promised her he was staying.

Maybe they could just continue the pattern they were in now, passing the nights together. There was no need to make the whole thing messy and complicated.

Only…

Only she wanted messy and complicated. And she knew Jane did, too.

She was going to have to confront her fears, her anxieties, before they could have the sort of relationship they both desired.

And so she would.

But just not tonight.

**AN: **The elevator scene is dedicated to the lovely and talented MleeWrite , who is the master of the "leave you wanting much, much more elevator situation." For proof, see "All On Your Own." Ahem. You know what I'm talking about.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN**: Wow. I am blown away by the reviews you guys've left. Seriously. I can't express my gratitude in words, but I can give you one more chapter of this. Which, now that I think about it, is sort of the same thing.

New Year's is going to be the epilogue, I believe. This freaking chapter was incredibly difficult for me to write at first – seriously, it was like pulling out fingernails for a bit – but then I sort of got going. I was worried that my brain was over this story for a while!

Oh, and here is where I'm going to ask you to go read "Plots and Puzzles." Pretty please?

**Starlight and Silent Nights**

**Chapter Seven **

At four in the morning, it was difficult to remember why he was going to push her for an answer.

She was sprawled on his chest, the fingers on her left hand resting against the side of his neck. Her breathing was the only thing he could hear.

Her shirt had ridden up slightly at her waist, and he was absently brushing the exposed skin with his thumb, his other hand threaded through her hair.

The darkness that was wrapped around them was warm, sheltering, imbuing everything in the room with a monumental sense of peace.

As far as moments went, this one was perfect.

He was more than willing to make this a regular habit, something that occurred nightly, but she needed to confront whatever lingering insecurities she had. Lisbon had never leaned on anyone, never needed anyone.

Except that, sometime over the last ten years, she had begun to rely on him, to turn to him when she had a problem. And letting him into her life now in a totally different way was terrifying.

Or maybe she was concerned about how he felt. After all, he'd left her once before with no notice. Did she not realize that he would be utterly unable to do it again?

He frowned, lips touching the top of her head.

It was a complicated situation, and he needed to tread carefully. Too much force on his part would make her bolt. But if he let it go, she was going to continue to waver between together and not together, at least in her mind. As far as he was concerned, she was his. And the reverse was true as well.

Slowly, the first light of dawn crawled across the floor, touching them both with the pure, golden rays. The sunshine brought out the subtle red highlights in her dark hair, illuminated the softness in the curve of her cheek.

Sleep disturbed by the light, Lisbon stretched languidly against him. He loosened his hold, allowing her to move.

"Good morning," he said, tightening his arms again as she resettled herself.

"Mmm," she murmured back in what he supposed was agreement.

"Are you going to yell at me again when I tell you I need to go?" He kept his tone light.

She cleared her throat. "Only if you don't make coffee on your way out." Still, she made no effort to move, head against his heart.

Smiling now, he took her face in one hand, forcing her to look up at him. He saw the uncertainty in her eyes that she was trying so hard to mask. Pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, he touched her lips with the tip of one finger.

"Teresa," he said softly, "you're going to need to make a choice soon."

Her brows furrowed, and her fear became more pronounced.

"Think about what you want," he continued. "What you_ really _want, regardless of whether or not you think it's a good idea."

Lightly, he touched his lips to the corner of her mouth, and he felt her trembling exhalation. Then he gently untangled himself from her. "See you soon," he said.

He was already on the couch in the bullpen when she arrived at work later. Briefly, he entertained a fantasy of her crossing the wooden floor, grabbing his lapels as she leaned over him, kissing him for all she was worth.

The images faded as she swept past him, intent on speaking with Cho. He didn't bother to pay attention to their conversation.

Predictably, Lisbon ignored him for the rest of the day. He knew what she was doing – proving to him that she wasn't required to make a decision and he could go to hell. Except he could feel her eyes on him from her office, knew what her gaze would look like.

Tonight would be a test, probably for both of them. She would fight the urge to call him, and he would fight the immediate instinct to give in to whatever she wanted.

Honestly, if she called him with that funny hitch in her voice again, almost like she was in tears, he wasn't sure if he had the ability to resist.

Desperately, he hoped that she wouldn't deny herself what she wanted just out of spite, though he knew she wasn't above that.

But this was her call. All he could do was put her in a position where she needed to make a decision, and he thought he'd already done that. He hadn't given her an ultimatum, not yet, mainly because he didn't think he would be able to.

With a snort of derision, he realized he needed to work on his willpower. Would he be able to tell her no, he wasn't willing to hold her at night? Because, frankly, that was a lie. If she resisted, if she insisted, he was quite certain he would continue this for as long as she allowed it.

At five that evening, he pushed himself up from the couch and went to dump his teacup in the sink in the break room.

The light was still on in Lisbon's office.

He pushed the door open without knocking. She was hunched over a form on her desk, posture screaming how uncomfortable she was. It took her a moment to look up.

When she saw him, she tried to make her expression stoic. The attempt to hide her emotions would have worked on anyone but him. She was glad to see him, worried, nervous, a little defiant. And hopeful.

"I'm taking off," he said.

Reflexively, she checked her watch. "Okay," she replied neutrally.

He fought the urge to sigh loudly. "See you in the morning," he told her, watching her face. The conflict of desires that he saw there was fascinating.

_Just give in_, he thought.

"Okay," she said again, and he knew then that whatever else happened tonight, they were going to be in separate beds.

There was a moment of stabbing disappointment, but he collected himself quickly. He nodded at her once, then backed away from her door.

All the way to the elevator, he listened for her footsteps, for her voice asking him to wait. But nothing came.

He refused to entertain the idea that he had made a mistake, a miscalculation.

It would work out.

It had to.

**XxXxXxXxX**

The only good part about the next morning was the Jane looked as awful as she felt. After he'd left the previous night, she'd sat at her desk, head in her hands, wondering what the hell she was going to do.

Which was nothing, apparently.

He'd asked her to make a decision, to choose to be with him, and for the life of her, she couldn't come up with an answer.

It wasn't like she didn't want to. She had spent at least part of every day for the past nine years wondering what it would be like if he belonged to her, if she had the right to run her fingers through his hair or to abruptly kiss him whenever she felt like it.

But now, when she could do more than just wonder, she froze.

Perhaps it was time to address the reasons why.

She sighed, resting her forehead on her desk for a moment. Just not tonight.

For lack of anything better to do, she stayed very late at work, until her inbox was totally empty. Later, she would realize that she had no idea what she'd done. For all she knew, she had filled out every form with the words _I love Patrick Jane_.

It had been a very long night at home. Her bed was too large, too empty without Jane. Improvising she had wrapped her arms around herself, but it was a cold facsimile. Once or twice, a few tears escaped.

In total, she estimated that she had slept for about three non-consecutive hours. All the coffee in the world wasn't going to make her feel better.

The dark shadows under Jane's eyes told her he'd spent most of the night awake as well. Of course, for all she knew, he'd been up pondering what Red John's next move would be.

In truth, she realized he'd really never given her any indication of how he felt. He'd flirted with her outrageously, yes, was very sweet when they were tangled up together, certainly. But all he'd done was throw cryptic statements at her and tell her it was her damn decision.

Had he spent three nights in a row in her bed just because she wanted him to, and he didn't have the heart to tell her no?

The thought made her nauseous.

Her brain told her she was being silly, but her heart couldn't seem to shake the idea.

Everything he did that day seemed to magnify her fears. He said what felt like a very subdued _good morning_ to her before disappearing to the attic. Maybe he was putting distance between them, sending her a message that she shouldn't expect more from him.

He _had_ wanted to kiss her though. Then again, at the time, he was trying to get her to admit she wanted to be kissed by him. Not even Jane was cold enough to be unaffected by some of the things he was doing and saying.

Rationally, she knew he wouldn't toy with her emotions like that. Jane, in the end, was still her friend, and God knew he needed her enough to ensure she remained on his side.

By lunch, she was ready to scream. Both at Jane and at herself.

She tried to look at the situation objectively. If any of her friends were in the same position she was, she would be telling them to suck it up and go after what they wanted. It was damnably difficult to follow her own advice.

The easy solution would be to ask Jane what he meant, truly, by asking her to make a choice. Now that she thought more about it, she shouldn't have assumed anything. This was _Jane _ - everything was more complicated than it appeared on the surface.

For the next several hours, she worked on mustering up enough courage to make her way to the attic. In the end, it was after five when she left her desk.

The entire way, she couldn't decide if she was more afraid of him being there or of him being gone.

With shaking hands, she slid the heavy door open. "Jane? Are you in here?" she called.

The lights were off in the room. Disappointed, she turned.

"Lisbon." His voice came from by the window.

She took a silent breath as she picked her way over to him.

Through the darkness, he smiled. "Hey."

She sucked in another gulp of air. "What did you mean?" she asked in a rush. "When you told me I needed to make a choice. What did you mean?"

There was a pause. "I would have thought that was obvious," he said finally.

"Well, it's not," she said, voice snapping. "Nothing with you is ever obvious."

He looked surprised. "Teresa," he said softly, slowly, searching for words. "Do you want to be with me?"

Her heart was pounding too fast, too hard.

Apparently, he didn't expect her to answer, as he went on without waiting. "That's the choice you need to make. I know I said we didn't have to label this, but I'm taking that back. I don't want to do this just part of the way."

It took her several seconds to process his words. "So what are you saying? That it's my call if we're in a relationship? That you'll just do whatever I want?" She frowned, feeling her defensive anger rise. "What about you? Are you just going along with it because you think that's what I want?"

He chuckled, though he didn't sound particularly amused. "Teresa," he repeated. "Are you worried about how I feel?"

Smiling again, he reached for her cold hands. "I want you in every way possible. All of you. Don't ever doubt that."

Unable to speak now, she didn't resist when he pulled her into his arms, hands running up and down her back. "You need to tell me what you're afraid of," he whispered.

Numbly, she gripped a handful of his shirt. "Everything."

He sighed into her hair. "You're going to need to be more specific than that."

Once she started speaking, she couldn't stop. "I'm worried that this won't work, I'm worried that I won't be enough for you, that I'll always be second place in your heart, that you'll leave again." Her voice softened. "I'm scared you'll be so concerned about catching Red John that you'll be too willing to sacrifice your life, with no thought about what it would do to me." Hell, she was already scared about that last point.

She turned her face into his neck. "And I'm scared that I want this too much for it to be real."

"Hmm," he said, contemplating. "You're being ridiculous, you know."

Irritated that he would brush her issues off with one nonchalant statement, she abruptly jerked back. His grip, however, was suddenly firm.

"Let me explain," he said. She still didn't relax. His lips quirked. "This will work because we both want it to," he told her. "You are more than enough, Teresa. You're far more than I deserve, more than I ever thought I would have." He took a deep breath, and she tried to remember where he was in her list of fears.

"The heart is a remarkable thing," he said thoughtfully. "You never know what it's capable of. When Charlotte was born, I thought my love for Angela had diminished to make room for my feelings for our child. But that's not how it works. I didn't love Angela any less. My heart just suddenly expanded." He sounded amused. "I realize that's a terrible way of explaining it, but the same thing happened for you. I don't love Angela any less now than I ever have. But that doesn't mean I don't love you just as much."

She didn't realize she was crying until his thumb wiped away an errant tear.

"Now, the rest of your problems." He kissed her forehead. "I won't leave again, I promise. And I will always do my very best to come back to you."

This felt like a dream, like some ridiculous fantasy she had conjured up to get her through an awful lot of lonely nights.

"And that nonsense about you wanting this too much to be real?" His smile flashed in the darkness. "Who says you can't ever get what you really want?"

The hope she heard in his voice did it. She felt her insecurities ebb away. She wasn't naïve enough to think that they were gone for good, that they wouldn't reappear, but for now, she was sure.

There was nothing left to be afraid of anymore.

Rising onto her toes, she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

It was soft in the beginning, sweet and tender, the way a first kiss should be. And then Jane sighed into her mouth, taking control, and she was lost in a haze of want and love.

She found herself sitting on his desk in front of the window, Jane standing between her legs, kissing her as though his life depended on it. She understood the feeling – she might very well die if he pulled away.

Locking her arms around his neck, she gave back as good as she got, shivering with delight when his palms slid under the back of her shirt. Her skin was over sensitized, both from his physical proximity and her own emotional upheaval, and every touch sent another jolt of pleasure through her too-warm body.

Her hands went to his shoulders, slipping down to his chest, his stomach.

Abruptly, he lifted his head. Breathing heavily, he caught her wrists, entwining both of his hands with hers.

She gave him a questioning look, and he smiled widely.

"I'm not making love to you in this attic, Teresa," he said. "At least not tonight."

"Why?" she asked, forehead resting against his. It seemed like a wonderful idea to her.

"Because I've waited a long time for this," he told her, "and I'm doing it properly. In a real bed, in a real bedroom."

It seemed like a ridiculous notion, but Jane's expression told her he was in no mood to be argued with. She grinned sensuously. "Then we'd better get going before I start trying to convince you to change your mind."

He stared at her for a moment, seemingly captivated by her expression.

"What?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing." As he pulled her off the desk, she could have sworn she heard him murmur the phrase "my new favorite Lisbon." Which made no sense at all.

They didn't meet anyone on their way out of the building. It was a lucky thing, as she was almost positive she wouldn't be able to explain her flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

Jane kissed her again in the elevator. She eagerly pressed herself against him and was rewarded with a soft groan.

When they reached the first floor, he practically pulled her out of the conveyance and towards the parking lot. "Drive quickly," he warned, and the darkness in his eyes took her breath away.

Later, when they were tangled up again, sheets twisted around them, heartbeats still returning to normal, she propped herself up on his chest.

She studied his face, relaxed now, and noted he looked younger. Of course, that could have also been because his hair was tumbling onto his forehead. She was sure he was breaking some sort of law by being that damn attractive.

And he was hers…

Gently, he tilted her forward and kissed her. "Have I mentioned yet how glad I am that you didn't go back to Chicago for Christmas?"

She thought. "Actually, no," she said.

He smiled. "I'm glad you didn't go back."

"Me, too," she whispered, kissing him lightly again.

And then, she proceeded to show him how very happy she was.


	8. Epilogue

**AN: **And we've made it to the end! You guys have been absolutely amazing, and I'm just floored by the responses I've gotten. I'm making fangirl eyes at all of you.

Not sure when I'll be back...at the moment, I'm feeling sort of uninspired. However, if you want to hear me occasionally ramble, I'm on Tumblr as starry19. Fair warning: a lot of the time I just reblog pictures of Simon Baker, though I did make a Mentalist drinking game once. Ahem.

**Starlight and Silent Nights**

**Epilogue**

"You know this is ridiculous and totally unnecessary, yes?" Lisbon verified, taking the flute of champagne he handed her.

"Not at all," he told her, sipping his own glass. "It's our first official New Year's Eve together, and if I want to do something special, I think I have a right to."

She rolled her eyes, but he saw her hiding her smile.

They were on a yacht, slowly making their way towards Tower Bridge where a fireworks show was slated to begin at midnight. The event was black tie, something he didn't mind, especially since it meant he got to see Lisbon in a dress.

The group of people surrounding them were fairly high class, but he and Lisbon had kept to themselves. She despised rubbing elbows with the top of society, preferring instead to have a beer in a sports bar.

However, he thought she deserved something a little more for their first holiday together, and so he'd made last minute reservations.

It was definitely a good decision, he thought, eyeing her petite form, currently draped in black silk. Of course, he was sure he would like the dress much more once it was pooled on her bedroom floor.

But there was plenty of time for that.

She sipped her champagne, very close to his side, and he tucked an arm around her.

That was one of his favorite things about their new relationship - he could touch her whenever the urge struck him. Unless, of course, they were at work, where he was forbidden from so much as making eyes at her.

Not that he followed directions well.

He smirked, remembering a particular occasion the previous afternoon in the attic. Really, it was an ideal place to make out during the day - secluded, impossible to sneak up on.

They had definitely taken advantage of the situation. He hadn't even had to try very hard.

"Did I mention that you're beautiful?" he remarked casually, loving the blush that crept up her cheeks.

"You don't clean up too badly yourself," she said, tugging gently on his tie.

He smiled at her. "Shall we head up to the deck?" he asked. "It won't be long until the show starts."

"On deck?" she asked. "It's cold. I thought most people were watching from here?" She looked around at the ballroom, where many passengers were lining up against the windows.

"Come on, Teresa. You can't watch fireworks inside. It's against the rules." He slid his hand to the small of her back, increasing the pressure until she moved.

It was breathtaking on deck. He loved the city at night - full of glittering lights and crisp, cool air. It made him feel very alive.

Keeping Lisbon's hand, he walked to the rails that surrounded the upper deck. The atmosphere was making her grin as well, but he could already see the goosebumps on her bare arms and shoulders.

He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and wrapped it around her. It was one of his favorite possessive gestures, and he was glad he'd gotten to make it.

She curled into his side, arms slipping around his waist.

They were quiet for a while, both enjoying the moment. The past few days had been relatively intense, and it was nice to just relax together.

As well as they knew each other, being romantically involved was something very different. Lisbon was busy trying to set up ground rules, and he was busy trying to push the limits. Well, he supposed _that_ wasn't particularly different than normal.

She had requested that they not make their relationship public. He had gone along with her, knowing all the while that the team, at least, was going to figure it out before long.

It had taken Cho two days. At which point the detective had approached Jane and threatened to break every one of his fingers and ribs if he ever broke Lisbon's heart. Jane had been happy to reassure the other man, a little touched by Cho's devotion to his boss.

He had known, almost from the first day he'd been involved with the CBI, that Cho and Rigsby were a little in love with their leader. It wasn't something they consciously realized, but it made them both fiercely loyal.

It made him feel better about the crazy situations Lisbon put herself in, knowing that her unit would be willing to sacrifice it all to protect her.

He kissed the top of her head. "Warm enough?"

She shrugged. "All that champagne helped, but I'm still going to need a hot shower when we get home."

Her word choice sent a flare of tenderness into his heart. _Home_. He'd been staying with her since the first night they'd made love, and he had no plans to change that. He had been alone for enough of the past decade, and he abruptly found he didn't want to be anymore.

His lips moved down to her temple. "A hot shower, you say? I bet that can be arranged." The tone of his voice was husky now, and he felt her breathing hitch in response.

"By _myself_, Patrick," she said. She had been making a point of calling him by his first name when they were alone, and he couldn't believe how much he enjoyed it. "The last time you showered with me, we were late to work and I didn't even manage to get my hair washed."

He chuckled in her ear, knowing her shiver had very little to do with the air temperature. "True enough, but don't even try to pretend that you didn't like it."

Her cheeks flamed, and he could feel the heat against his neck.

The yacht slowed to a stop, the crew dropping anchor. She turned in his arms, facing outward in anticipation.

Their captain came over the loudspeaker, informing the passengers that there was less than a minute to go before the new year.

Jane found he was very much looking forward to the symbolism of the new year, of a fresh start. The past decade hadn't been anything to celebrate, but it _had_ brought him to Teresa in the end.

He was going to start the year by her side, and he would finish it there as well.

She rested her hands on top of his, fingers lightly skimming. His skin was cold, but there was no longer an icy circlet of gold to worry about.

His ring was currently nestled in her jewelry box, and that was where it would stay. Someday, there would be another one to take its place on his hand. He could be nothing but hopeful about it, the guilt and worry having fallen to the side.

The loudspeaker crackled again. "Ten," the captain announced.

Jane counted along with the man, his breath stirring Lisbon's hair. "One," he whispered. "Happy New Year."

They could hear the dim roar from those below deck, and from the crowd of people gathered near the bridge to watch the light show.

The first fireworks shot off into the night, and he turned Lisbon until he could properly take her face in his hands.

Gold and silver starbursts crackled over their heads, and he kissed her softly, her arms locking around his shoulders.

They broke apart, and she leaned back into him, eyes on the glittering sky.

"Admit it," he said. "This is much better than watching the ball drop on your television."

She laughed. "I'll admit that you're two for two when it comes to holidays. But you've set yourself some pretty high standards."

He smiled. "Oh, you think _this_ was big? This was what I managed to come up with in about three days. Just wait until Valentine's Day. You're not going to know what hit you."

Without looking, he knew she was rolling her eyes.

"I love you," he murmured into her ear. He wondered if the reason he said it so much to her, and he _did_ say it a lot, was because he thought he would never get tired of hearing it back.

She rested more of her weight against him. "Love you, too."

The fireworks continued overhead, and he watched them contentedly, the woman he loved in his arms. He was, undoubtedly, a very lucky man.

His life had been taken away from him abruptly a decade ago, but now he had been given another chance. He didn't intend to waste it.

Almost unconsciously, he ran his thumb over the ring finger on her left hand.

No, he wouldn't waste it.


End file.
